Turning Tables
by gleefulmusings
Summary: In order to awaken my muse from her comatose state, a series of fifty prompt drabbles surrounding the inestimable Kurt Hummel. Many pairings and crossovers, these stories are independent of each other and feature Kurt with a variety of partners, in a variety of circumstances, and a variety of Kurts: magical, psychic, and just plain fabulous. No Kurts were harmed.
1. Breath of Heaven

**Prompt #1** : First Kiss

 **Crossover** : _Glee/True Blood_

* * *

Everything he had been expecting just … wasn't.

There were no fireworks, no inner cheerleading squad, and time hadn't stopped.

Perhaps he had simply built up this moment so much in his mind that his expectations could never hope to match the reality.

It was awkward. It was wet. Noses crashed and lips collided more forcefully than required. There was that terrifying moment where a tongue not his own was residing in his mouth. Teeth clacked.

Breathing was heavy but not seductive. He was reminded uncomfortably of dogs panting.

Then, inexplicably, it got better.

After a moment apart, lips met again, perfectly aligned, and there was this sublime pressure. There was suddenly the taste of bubblegum and cheeseburger in his mouth, and it was the most delicious concoction he could ever conceive.

There were then tentative fingers pressing against the small of his back, drawing him forward and flush. He felt their cheeks heat in response to the closer proximity. He had always so zealously guarded his personal space and now welcomed this unexpected intrusion. He couldn't imagine anything more intoxicating, anything more flawless than this very flawed moment.

Then, with no fanfare, those fabled fireworks erupted behind his closed eyes, heralding colors he had never before seen, ones he could only imagine were created for this very moment.

They pulled apart as the need for oxygen silently announced itself, looking into each other's eyes.

Kurt offered a small smile as he shyly ducked his head and averted his eyes. "I've waited my whole life to be kissed like that."

Jason's warm brown eyes softened and all of his many lovers faded from conscious thought. Right now, in this space that existed only between them, so much was no longer relevant. This, finally, was about him. Not Sookie, not vampires, not dead parents.

There was just him, Jason Stackhouse, and Kurt Hummel, gods witnessing the new birth of a world created for and known only to them.

"Me too."


	2. Encore

**Prompt #2** : Final

 **Crossover** : _Glee/Buffy the Vampire Slayer_

* * *

They were talking to him. He knew this because their mouths were moving.

They could have been shouting, he supposed. Or whispering. Or begging or pleading. He couldn't be sure. He couldn't really hear anything. Sound traveled toward him as though he was under water.

He slowly turned around on the parapet and looked down.

Odd. It was no longer an abyss, but just a very steep drop. He could jump again and go back to … wherever he had been. The place from which they had torn him as though he were nothing more than cheap poly-cotton blend.

This could never be mended or forgiven.

Almost six years he had given himself to this fight; sometimes resentfully, sometimes mulishly, but always with honesty and integrity.

It was supposed to be over. He had served his time. He had earned his peace.

And they had stolen it as though it were nothing.

He was sure there had been good intentions, though he couldn't have cared less what they were. All of the feelings, all of the powerful emotions these people had engendered within him, were now eclipsed by an overwhelming … nothingness.

He felt nothing. How curious.

If there was any word to describe his current state of being, he supposed _apathy_ would have been most appropriate. He couldn't hear them, but he knew them. They wanted him back. They wanted him to save them. They wanted to save the world.

How was he supposed to tell them he no longer cared? His mission was complete, his dues paid. Another should have been called in his stead. He had given his final bow and was now forced back onto the stage for an unwanted encore.

He turned back to face them and opened his mouth. They waited with relentless anticipation yet he could say nothing. It felt as though he were trying to breathe through wet cotton.

Finn stood there, so anxious, so earnest, his guileless eyes pleading with his brother to fix everything and right all wrongs, to make them a family again. Rachel stood next to him, eyes flush with triumph and the knowledge that, finally, she had cast a spell with the intended outcome. Santana glared at everything and nothing, refusing to meet his eyes, terrified of the judgment she would find there.

Sue, the Watcher he had never wanted and who had, somehow, come to be the mother for whom he had longed, was completely horrified.

Brittany stared at the ground. She couldn't even look at him. He knew then she hadn't been party to this, that she was just as surprised and disgusted as he was to find themselves in this situation.

Xander wasn't present, which spoke volumes.

His father was still dead. His mother was still dead. Noah was still dead. Cordelia was still dead.

Sam was presumably still in Los Angeles, seeking redemption and shepherding Wesley, Anya, and Tina.

Blaine was hopefully still rotting in a dark, dank cell. Brother Slayers. What an insipid idea.

And here he stood, Kurt Hummel, the Vampire Slayer, once again teetering on the edge of life and death, this time longing to embrace that which had terrified him since the moment he had been Called.

Everything was brightly cold. And loud. And violent.

He was _alive_.

This was hell.


	3. He Wrote

**Prompt #41 :** Words

 **Crossover :** _Glee/Other(s)_

 **Author's Note** **:** This ficlet is loosely based in my _Uber Cousin_ s 'verse.

* * *

He stared at the letter in his hand, eyelids descending in a slow blink which his mind insisted would snap him out of this strange unreality. Because this couldn't be happening. Things like this didn't happen for Kurt Hummel.

"Are you okay, son?" asked an alarmed Burt.

Kurt blinked again and shook his head. "When did you get here, Dad?"

Burt arched a brow. "About ten minutes ago, kid. I've been trying to get your attention." He paused. "Kurt, why is your hand trembling?" He darkened. "What's that letter? If this is another one of those …"

"It's not," Kurt whispered. "This is … this is unbelievable. It can't be real."

"Well, what is it?" Burt demanded, his paternal antennae standing at attention in search of prey.

Kurt raised his eyes. "They bought it. My book, I mean. They bought the book."

Burt stared and slowly sank down into his chair, almost missing it and collapsing to the floor. "I didn't even know you finished it."

Kurt blushed. "I didn't want to say anything. You know I never intended to publish it. It was just a writing exercise to see if I'd be any good at it."

"You're good at everything," Burt insisted before brightening, "and obviously the literary world agrees." He laughed. "I can't believe my son is going to be a published author! At sixteen!"

Kurt's hand still shaking, slowly held out the papers toward his father. "This is the contract. You'll have to cosign as I'm still a minor."

Burt was astonished. "They're offering you a contract?"

A dazed Kurt nodded. "They want three more." His eyes widened. "What if I don't have three more books in me? You know how long it took me to write just the one, Dad!"

"Aw, that's bull. You've got a brilliant mind, son. I read the early drafts and it was a damn good story. Why shouldn't you be able to come up with more?"

"They gave me an advance."

Burt smiled. "That's real nice. You should get compensated for all the work you put in."

"Dad, it's half a million dollars."

Burt fainted.

* * *

"Honestly, Burt, what is all this about?" Carole demanded as she laid the plates on the dining room table. "You told me nothing on the phone!"

An exited Burt danced around the room, placing Chinese takeout cartons in some strategic way only he understood. "Big news, Carole! Huge!"

She rolled her eyes and harrumphed. She knew he wouldn't say anything until he was ready.

"Where's Kurt?" Finn asked, looking around. "I saw the Navigator in the driveway. Is he in his room?"

"Kurt ran over to invite Tina, Artie, and Brittany."

Finn suppressed a frown. Tina and Artie were not very big fans of his and he wasn't anxious to share a meal with them. He hadn't known last year just how close the couple was to Kurt, so he hadn't guessed Kurt would tell them what happened in the basement. Tina had only barely managed to keep Artie from killing him, and Finn suspected she really hadn't tried that hard.

Brittany was okay. She was nice and nice to everyone, but where she went, Satan followed. Santana had been dropping hints about outing their one night stand to Rachel, not for any real reason other than to be a bitch. Well, and the fact that Rachel was more aggressive than ever toward Kurt and Santana kind of thought of Kurt as her favorite pedigreed puppy.

"I feel like I should have dressed up," Carole said.

"You always look beautiful," said an earnest Burt, a soft smile on his face when she blushed.

Finn beamed. He loved how much his mom and Burt loved each other. It was hard for him to show affection to Kurt after last year, but he really loved the little guy. He couldn't wait until they were brothers. And, if they had to share a room, Kurt could decorate it however the hell he wanted. He knew Kurt had way better taste than he himself did.

He flinched when the front door was flung open and Santana's strident voice echoed down the hall.

"What the hell, Tink?" she barked. "Brittany and I had plans at Breadstix and then for some floral arrangements."

Finn pulled a face. Since when was Santana into plants?

Kurt rolled his eyes as he pushed her inside with one hand while rolling Artie with the other. Brittany and Tina, as always, were stationed at Kurt's sides like sentries.

"I don't want to hear about your flowers, Santana. I have no interest in tilling your soil."

Burt and Carole stared as Santana pouted.

"Too bad," she lamented. "I bet your fertilizer is deliciously potent."

Burt blushed for his son, who was far too busy laughing. Very inappropriately, in Burt's estimation. Since when did his shy little boy exchange sexual innuendo with girls? With anyone? With Santana _freaking_ Lopez?

Oh, god! Did Kurt do this with boys? Which boys? What were their intentions? Where did they live?

But most importantly ...

Where. Was. His. Gun?

"Sanny," Brittany interrupted, "Kurty already agreed to make a baby with us after we finish college and I become the President."

Santana nodded as if that statement made sense to anyone who called Earth their home planet.

Finn had to sit down, putting his head in his hands and scowling when he felt Santana smirk at him.

"You … you're going to have a baby?" asked a pale Carole, brows drawn.

Brittany nodded. "Sure! But after we're really old, like, at least thirty-five. Sanny and I both want a baby, but she doesn't want to carry it, so I will."

Burt stared at his son, who offered a meek shrug in reply. That was entirely unacceptable.

"You've got about twenty years to worry about it, Dad," said an unhelpful Kurt.

Burt released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, thinking that his boy's idea was a good one. Twenty years. He was sure he'd come around to it by then. He would never admit it, but he'd always worried Kurt didn't want children. He had reluctantly begun the difficult process of accepting the family line would end with Kurt. It brought him some measure of relief that, perhaps, it might not.

Artie and Tina had sequestered themselves in a corner and were laughing at the entire spectacle.

"So what's going on?" Santana asked, wanting to bring this impromptu gathering back to center.

Kurt turned toward her, eyes dancing with excitement. "They bought it."

Her eyes widened. "Holy shit!"

And then Tina and Brittany were jumping about the room like jackrabbits on crystal meth as Artie wheeled himself forward and threw his arms around Kurt's waist.

Carole and Finn looked at each other with confusion.

Burt cleared his throat. "Perhaps you should tell Carole and Finn your news, son."

Kurt beamed and Burt's heart fluttered. He had rarely seen his boy so happy. That fact made his heart twinge. Kurt was such a good boy, such a good son and friend, and rarely had life been kind to him. He chose to believe that this book was one step in righting the many wrongs Kurt had been made to endure.

"I wrote a book!" a cheerful Kurt enthused, eyes sparkling like the child he rarely allowed himself to be. "And it's going to be published!"

"Wow!" Finn exclaimed. "That's awesome!"

"You don't seem surprised," observed a wary Santana.

"Why would I be? Kurt writes all the time. I knew he was working on something, but he was kind of tight-lipped about it. I didn't know he had finished it." He frowned at her. "Besides, Kurt is, like, super smart and knows a lot of big words and when to use them. Why should I be surprised he wrote a book? And someone was obviously smart enough to realize it's amazing, so they're going to publish it."

He shrugged. "Makes sense to me."

Tina, Artie, Brittany, and Santana gaped at him.

Finn pulled a face and looked at Kurt, who was gazing at him with, well, what Finn thought he would never again see after that horrible night in the basement. Kurt loved him, this time as a brother, and Finn loved him right back. So he told him.

"I love you. I'm so proud of you."

* * *

"Kurt has an announcement to make!" a joyful Finn bellowed, dragging his almost-brother toward the front of the choir room. He pulled Kurt next to him and laughed when Kurt slapped at his hands, which were attempting to adjust the other boy's already perfect collar.

"The floor is yours, Kurt," Will said kindly.

Kurt nodded and sniffed. "Thank you, Mr. Schuester. I wanted to advise you all that I will be unable to attend the rehearsals scheduled for next week, as …"

"You have to!" Rachel shrilly interjected. "Sectionals are in a month and there's too much to do! I'm sure whatever little concern you have can be …"

"I wasn't finished," Kurt said coolly.

Rachel offered an owlish blink in reply and abruptly shut up.

"I have already memorized the music and choreography for Sectionals, thank you. I did so over a month ago."

"But …"

"Rachel, let Kurt finish," Will said through gritted teeth.

She heaved a gusty sigh and crossed her arms defensively over her chest, staring at Kurt with one brow raised.

"I will be in New York, as I have …"

"Why are you going there?" she demanded. "What are you up to? Who are you meeting? What are …"

Kurt merely picked up his bag and left the room.

"Where is he going?" she screeched. "We have to practice!"

"Kurt doesn't need to practice anything," barked an annoyed Finn. "He knows all the notes and moves. He always does." He shook his head in consternation. "Why did you do that? Why do you always have to … have to … _shit_ on anything good in his life?"

Her mouth fell open in shock and fury.

Santana stared blankly at the wall. "For the second time in two days, I find myself resolutely on Team Hudson." She turned toward Artie. "I'm concerned for my mental health."

He patted her knee. "You can't be insane if you recognize the possibility that you _are_ insane."

She shrugged. "Small mercies, I guess."

He snickered.

Will cleared his throat. "Finn, what was Kurt going to tell us," he paused to glare at Rachel, "before being so rudely interrupted?"

Finn sneered at Rachel and looked at the rest of his teammates. "Kurt wrote a book! It's going to be published next year and then he's going on tour!"

Excited chatter immediately broke out amongst them. Some was incredulous and surprised, but most of it was supportive and ecstatic.

"You always have to steal his thunder, don't you?" Mercedes growled at Rachel. "Even when it has nothing to do with your flat ass."

Rachel lowered her eyes and sunk down further in her chair.

"Wow, when did Kurt have time to write a book?" Mike wondered. "He's in AP everything, plus Glee and Cheerios, _and_ his job at the shop!"

"He's been working on it for a while," Brittany said, "over a year, but I know he was writing a lot more these past few months. I think he just wanted to see if he could actually get it done."

"Did you read it?" Mercedes asked, very bothered that she'd had no idea Kurt was a writer.

Brittany shook his head. "I asked, but he said no. He said writing is very personal to him, something he doesn't have to share with anyone else."

"Yet it's being published," Rachel drawled. "I wonder which vanity press he submitted it to and how much he paid to have it done."

"You know," said a thoughtful Tina, "until this moment, I don't think I ever truly understood just what a petty bitch you really are. You'd think after _True Colors_ I'd know better."

Rachel gaped at her.

"You're such a tool, Berry," Santana sneered. "Vanity press? Are you joking? You've heard Kurt talk for how many years now? He's fluent in how many languages? He's already taken how many AP Lit classes _and_ exams and kicked their asses?"

She shook her head in disgust. "Tink didn't submit his book to the publisher; _I_ did. I found the file on his computer when I was snooping … okay, all of you can stop looking at me like that. I've been through all your computers and phones." She shrugged. "It's a little thing I do.

"Anyway, I found it, read the first three chapters, and copied it to my flash drive. Then I went home, stayed up all night reading it, and submitted it myself. I only told him when he got a letter saying his submission has been received."

"That's gross yet awesome of you," Sam said.

She nodded. "I know. I'm a philanthropist. I'm _just_ like Angelina Jolie."

They blinked at her.

She stared at Rachel. "The publisher is Sutton House."

Rachel's eyes widened. She knew nothing about publishing, but even she was aware of the sterling reputation of Sutton House. Their authorial roster was exclusive and exquisite, both well-received critically and commercially. They routinely dominated the bestseller lists.

"This is so fucking weird, but great!" said a surprisingly enthusiastic Puck. "We should have a party or something. I mean, a kid, someone our age, from this dinky little town, is going to be a published author. That's a big deal!"

Will nodded. "It is, and the fact that his manuscript was acquired by Sutton House clearly demonstrates its quality. They don't publish just anyone. The fact they want to promote the book by sending Kurt on tour is almost unheard of."

Santana gave him a respectful nod. "Kurt is going to New York next week with Uncle Burt so they can sign the contract. Uncle Burt has to go because Kurt is still a minor. The contract calls for three more books and they advanced Kurt half a million dollars."

Will stumbled and grabbed the piano to keep upright. "They must really believe in him."

Brittany smiled. "It's nice that someone does, isn't it?"

Those who weren't close with her wouldn't have read anything more into the comment. Those who were, however, noted the pointed barb aimed right at Schuester's jugular.

Will colored and said nothing.

"How did you even know to submit his book to them?" Sam asked Santana.

"It was pretty much blind luck," she admitted. "His aunt is one of their authors, so I just took a chance and sent it to them. I didn't use her name, of course. Kurt would never want to be accused of nepotism. As far as I know, I don't think he's even told her yet."

"Aunt?" Mercedes repeated. "I thought his aunt worked for the government in DC?"

Artie shook his head. "That's Camille, Aunt Suzanne's sister. Kurt doesn't really talk about it, but he has a _huge_ extended family, though they're spread throughout the country. They all keep track of each other and they all love Kurt; he's the eldest of his generation, so he was really the first kid they all knew. Most of them are in law enforcement, but a few of them are authors."

"Anyone we know?" Puck asked.

Finn shrugged. "I'm not sure. I've read a couple of his Uncle Rick's books. They're really good! I like mysteries. Oh, and that's what Kurt wrote: a mystery. I'm sure it's awesome."

"Uncle Rick?" Mercedes said softly. She didn't remember Kurt ever mentioning this man before.

Finn nodded. "Richard Castle. He writes the Nikki Heat series."

"Dude!" Mike exclaimed. "I love those books!" He wraggled his brows. "Sexaaayyyy."

Finn nodded happily and they exchanged a high five. The girls all rolled their eyes.

"So who's the aunt at Sutton House?" Sam asked.

"His Aunt Jess," Finn said. "Jessica Fletcher. Well, technically she's his cousin a bunch of times removed. Kurt considers her his great-aunt."

"J.B. Fletcher," Artie demurred.

A collective gasp.

"No way!" Puck shouted. "Her books are the shit! You _never_ see the end coming!"

He scowled when they stared at him.

"Yeah, dorks, the Puckzilla can _read_."


	4. Derailed

**Prompt 10 :** Stranger

 **Crossover** **:** _Glee/Charmed_

* * *

Chris Halliwell, lately of the future but currently walking the planet before his actual birth, stood in his mother's attic, head hanging in shame. He was long used to suffering Piper's wrath these past few months – the fact that your own mother had no inkling you were her child on top of her not liking you very much was a lot to bear – but this time he welcomed it.

Okay, so, yes, he could have been more discreet. Yes, he absolutely should have been more responsible. Yes, he should be setting a better example for his little brother. Or his big brother. Whatever.

Time travel was a bitch.

What he didn't understand was why Piper was so upset about this. It made no sense!

Neither did Paige just standing there, her head swiveling back and forth like she was watching a tennis match while on meth.

He hadn't even really been _doing_ anything, and certainly nothing wrong. Since when was kissing – okay, _amazing_ kissing which had curled his toes and frozen every part of his body but his mouth and cock – a crime?

He shouldn't have been doing it in Piper's house. Fine. As far as she knew, it _was_ her house, not theirs. He shouldn't have been making out with some random and hot guy while he supposed to have been babysitting Wyatt.

Wait.

 _Wait_.

Oh.

"You're mad because I'm gay?" Chris bellowed, anger heavy in his voice and eyes, his face flushing and a throbbing vein appearing in the center of his forehead.

Piper stared at him for a moment, jaws agape, before stomping over to the window and making a grand arm gesture that would put the best Price is Right model to shame.

"See that?" she demanded. "That's _San Francisco_ , Chris. Welcome!" She sneered. "I don't care that you're gay. I've had gay friends my entire life. High school would have been even more horrific if not for my boys. Prue had tons of gay friends. So do Paige and Phoebe. I am okay with the gay! If Wyatt or any subsequent theoretical children of mine were gay, I'd be the first in the Pride Parade lineup and I'd blast into orbit anyone who looked at them cross-eyed!"

His flush was now one of relief and pride rather than anger.

"What is all the yelling about?" asked a breathless Phoebe as she ran into the room. "I can hear you _outside_ , Piper! And who's gay?"

"I don't care," Piper screamed, "and apparently Chris is!"

Phoebe gaped at her, then at Chris, before staring down at the floor, wincing as she recalled the slight crush she'd developed for their new whitelighter when he arrived those months ago. Now that she knew he was Piper's son, that lapse in judgment was even more ghastly.

But how awesome! Gay nephew! Bonus!

She couldn't wait to take him shopping, because he dressed like a schlub and was in need of a serious makeover. Chris was that rare combination of adorable _and_ hot. He shouldn't have to go without. In fact, that was probably why he was so bitchy all the time.

If she had known he was gay, she could have been hooking him up with various studs for months and living vicariously through his experiences! As any good aunt would.

"So what's the problem?" asked an exasperated Chris. "Yes, I admit I should have acted more responsibly with Wyatt in my care, but he _was_ down for the night. He didn't _see_ anything. And all we were doing was kissing!"

Phoebe frowned. "That's it? Jeez, Piper. So Chris was kissing another man, so what? That's no excuse for this nuclear holocaust you're unleashing."

Piper narrowed her eyes and glared. "Well, there are several issues, Phoebe. The first of which is that Chris was defiling not another man, but a boy."

Phoebe swung her gaze from Piper to Chris. "What?" she hissed.

"Oh, my god!" Chris exclaimed. "He wasn't a _boy!_ "

Piper sighed and covered her eyes with a hand. "Chris, I don't know the rules where you're from, but here, it's frowned upon when a twenty-something grown man is making out – and that _barely_ describes what you two were doing – with a sixteen-year-old boy!"

Paige choked.

Phoebe punched his shoulder. Hard. "Not cool!"

Chris threw his hands up in the air. "He's not sixteen!"

"How do you know?" Piper said quietly. "Did you ask him his age?"

Chris faltered. "Well … no." He then shook his head. "But that doesn't mean anything. You saw him. He's gorgeous, very intelligent with a biting wit, and I can tell you there's no way I was his first kiss. And his clothes …"

"Wait!" Paige barked, holding up a hand. "You did _not_ just use the _he asked for it because of how he was dressed_ defense, did you?"

Chris was horrified. "No! I … what is _happening?_ I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Piper, how do you know the boy was sixteen?" Phoebe calmly asked.

"Because I know him," her sister replied, "and so do you. It was Kurt."

Phoebe startled. "Kurt?" she blankly repeated. "Kurt _who?_ " She gave Chris the side-eye. "Piper, I know you don't mean _our cousin_ Kurt, because he _is_ only sixteen and his father hasn't allowed us to see him for _ten years_ and he wasn't supposed to arrive for another week. Because I don't want to _think_ about our _whitelighter_ making out with an _underage blood relation_.

"So, not that Kurt, right?"

"Wrong," Piper said flatly. "That Kurt. I, of course, overreacted and Kurt fled into the night. I don't know where he is, how he is, and I don't have his phone number to call and find out. I certainly don't want to call his father, because that man, mortal or no, would probably reach through the phone and snap my neck."

Chris felt all of the blood in his body rush to his feet, ironically turning them to blocks of ice and causing him to sway.

Mom – no, _Piper_ – had to be wrong. She just _had_ to be wrong!

There was absolutely no way he had made out with his _Uncle Kurt_ , who, yeah, was technically Mom – _Piper's_ – cousin. It just wasn't possible. The math didn't work. Kurt was half Piper's age, and Wyatt and Chris himself were half Kurt's age, so …

Oh. Holy. _Fuckballs_.

No.

 _Nooooooooooo!_

He had made out with _Uncle Kurt!_

And Piper was right: making out hardly covered it. When she had interrupted them, he and Kurt had been about five seconds away from full-on intercourse, if not at least what would probably been the most amazing blowjob Chris had ever received _in his life_.

Not that he'd had that many, but Kurt was _gorgeous_ and sexy, even at sixteen. And _of course_ Kurt had been the _only_ guy to grab his attention during this miserable trip to the past. The only guy with whom Chris had wanted to have sex with and, yeah, possibly something more.

How could he have not recognized Uncle Kurt? Well, the man he knew as Uncle Kurt was taller, a little more built, leaner, voice was slightly deeper, didn't dress as fabulously, was _definitely_ not as shy …

But the eyes. The skin. The lips.

And, yeah, okay, Chris had noticed Uncle Kurt's _stupendous ass_ on more than one occasion. That ass might have even started his own sexual awakening, but he had been young and it wasn't like he had actually ever _fantasized_ about Uncle Kurt.

Not really.

Okay, maybe he had thought, on occasion, about Uncle Kurt and Uncle Mike and Uncle Sam and what went on in their bedroom. Twice, maybe. Fifty seven times at a maximum.

He bit his lip and suppressed the whine trying to escape his throat as his brain and cock recalled that absolutely amazing ass which Kurt had apparently _always_ possessed and that Chris himself could now never experience. Because incest.

… even if Kurt and Piper were, like, fourth cousins.

Incest was wrong. Right?

Even if you were both dudes. Right?

Fucking time travel!

Why couldn't he have nice things? Pretty things with big dicks and hot asses?

 _Why was the entire fucking universe trying to cockblock him?!_

As Piper paced the attic and worried about finding Kurt, as a seething Phoebe slapped Chris upside his head and hissed vows of retribution, as Chris was mortified and humiliated and still horny as _fuck_ , Paige merely stood there, a look of confusion plain on her face.

"Who's Kurt?"


	5. Wayward

**Prompt 40 :** Hidden

 **Crossover :** _Glee/Dynasty_

 **Author's Note :** This will be a niche story, I know. I won't take any offense if you choose not to read it. My rationale is that I've been longing to write such a story for quite a while. As a child of the eighties, Dynasty was a seminal show in my upbringing. It went off the air long before a majority of _Glee_ viewers were even born. For those who, like me, remember with fondness shoulder pads and gold lamé in all their glory, I hope you'll enjoy this.

* * *

Krystle Carrington sat across the ridiculously ostentatious formal dining room table, leveling a subtle glare and scowl at her archnemesis Alexis Colby, unfortunately her husband's ex-wife and mother of his four children. The hellhound had been part of her life and a perpetual thorn in her side for almost thirty years.

Alexis offered a smirk and impeccably arched brow in reply. "Krystle, dear, weren't you ever warned that your face might freeze like that?"

Krystle offered a serene smile. "And if anyone would know about new faces …"

Their son-in-law Jeff Colby choked on his orange juice.

"Exactly what are you implying?" demanded a shrill Alexis.

"I wasn't implying anything," Krystle said smoothly. "I was merely commenting that your face has so many fillers, time won't be wasted on an embalmer after your unfortunate passing." She bared her teeth. "Any idea when that might be?"

Blake Carrington suppressed a roar of laughter. Alexis might have been gifted with a clever tongue, but he took tremendous pride that his wife had sharply honed her own over the years. Not that their relentless fighting wasn't bothersome, but it was nice they no longer resorted to fisticuffs. Of course, Alexis had never won those battles.

"Isn't it a little early to be slinging mud?" asked a wry Fallon, smothering a grin.

Krystle rolled her eyes. "Oh, not that again."

Alexis sniffed. "Truly. Will we never live that down?"

"Perhaps Mother shoving your face into the mud over and over again is responsible for your youthful glow?" Krystina suggested.

Krystle twitched her lips at her daughter. "That's enough, young lady."

"Your mother raised you better than that," said a reproachful Alexis.

Krystina blinked. "Wait, what just happened?"

"You're asking the wrong people, dear sister," Fallon said. "I've never understood their relationship."

"None of us has," said her brother Steven. He shrugged. "It's probably better that way. The longer we remain in the dark, the less time we'll have to sleep in shifts."

Jeff snorted.

"Someone really should have closed the gate to your sty, Jeffrey," Alexis drawled.

"As entertaining as all of this is," Jeff said, rolling his eyes, "why exactly are we here? Why weren't the children invited?"

"And why was I?" Krystina added, picking up on his line of questioning. "I'm barely older than Danny, L.B., and Lauren."

They all turned toward Blake who sighed before placing his elbows on the table and resting his head in his hands. "Strictly speaking, Adam called this meeting."

The collection of growls and grunts was expected. The eldest child of Blake and Alexis was not held in high esteem by any member of his family. The man had mellowed over the years and was no longer as deviously conniving and hurtful as he had been, but everyone was still wary.

"He has news regarding Amanda."

At once, they all sat at attention.

Alexis' relationship with her youngest daughter had always been deeply troubled and she was responsible for most of it. She had used Amanda over and over again in various schemes to hurt Blake, never realizing the emotional and psychological toll it had taken on the girl until it was almost too late. They had eventually reconciled, or so Alexis thought, but then Amanda had left Denver, never to be seen nor heard from again.

Krystle turned wistful. She had always been incredibly fond of Amanda, who had still been a teenager when Blake learned he had another daughter. Amanda had been a sweet, loving child whose life had been ripped to shreds by her parents' eternal war against each other. Krystle hadn't been surprised when Amanda had disappeared from their lives.

Fallon and Steven stared at one another. Growing up, they were all each other had. Blake had banished Alexis from Denver, and consequently the United States, after their divorce. They often still debated whether it had been the right decision. They loved their mother, certainly, but had never been blind to her ambitions and many faults. Their father had retained custody, but he had also been a father more in thought than feeling. He had spent so much time building his company that he'd had little idea who his children were as people.

They hadn't known Adam until they were adults. Their parents had never confided that they'd had a child before Fallon who had been subsequently kidnapped and then presumed dead. After Adam had barreled back into their lives with a giant chip on his shoulder, they weren't too keen to establish filial ties. Fallon often got along better with him than Steven did, but their relationship was still taciturn. Adam had mostly grown out of his misogyny and homophobia, but Fallon knew he had inflicted deep wounds upon Steven, whom would most likely never forgive him.

Neither they nor their father had known Amanda until she, like Adam, had arrived in Denver as an adult. Alexis had never told her Blake Carrington was her father, nor had she bothered to inform Blake that she had been pregnant when he exiled her. Consequently, Amanda and Blake's relationship had been quite odd.

In his eyes, she could do no wrong. She was his angel, a chance to be a proper parent after admitting his many failures with Adam, Fallon, and Steven. Amanda, surprisingly, hadn't blamed Blake in the slightest for not being there to parent her, laying all the blame at her mother's feet where it truly belonged. Amanda's character was such that, though she was the youngest and the apple of her parents' eyes, she never took advantage of them or played them against each other.

Yes, her relationship with their mother had been fraught with tension, but Alexis was mostly to blame. She had dumped her youngest child with some distant cousin so she could continue her jet-setting lifestyle and relentlessly add conquests to her long string of lovers. Amanda really hadn't known how to be a daughter or to deal with her parents' expectations of her.

"I miss her so much," Fallon whispered, choking on a sob in her throat. She shook her head. "I wasn't a good sister to her. We were more like cordial acquaintances. I never spent any time with her, never tried to get to know her as a person and not just an extension of Mother and Daddy."

Jeff wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her against him. "You did the best you could. Things were very difficult when Amanda came to town and she understood that." He leaned over and pressed a kiss against her temple. "Regardless, she knew how much you loved her."

Fallon bit her lip and shook her head, tears now streaming from her eyes. All of her life she had wanted a sister and, when she finally had one, she had ignored her. And then Amanda had simply walked away.

Steven stared down at his breakfast, his appetite long gone. He had been closer with Amanda than Fallon, but still had regrets. The truth of the matter was that, while he and Fallon regarded Adam and Amanda as their siblings, they hadn't done much to make room for them in their lives. He and Fallon had been raised together and were only a year apart. They couldn't have been closer than had they been twins.

They had always defended each other, especially to their parents. It was often the case that one or both was feuding with one or both of their parents, but Steven and Fallon had never exchanged a cross word. She had been the only one who not only accepted he was gay, but loved him even more for his honesty and bravery. In the early eighties, when homophobia and the panic surrounding AIDS was at its height, her unwavering devotion had literally saved his life.

His dedication to her was just as strong. He had always defended her against their mother's continuous harping and nagging, and constant complaints that Fallon was Blake's little princess. He always took her side during her marriages and divorces to Jeff. He loved Jeff dearly and considered him to be his brother, certainly more than Adam, but Fallon was his other half and had his unyielding loyalty. He could admit when she was wrong and would chastise her for her mistakes, but in private. Publicly, he was her stalwart support.

"No, Stevie," Fallon said kindly. "You were good to Amanda and she saw that. You two would've been closer but …"

He gave a tight nod. He didn't like reliving that time. He had been trapped on an oil rig when it had exploded. He woke up weeks later, not even knowing his own name, and looked in a mirror to see a stranger gazing back at him. It wasn't until his memory had finally been restored that he realized he hadn't recognized his face because it wasn't his own. It had been drastically reconstructed after the fire.

So much pain. So many surgeries. So much uncertainty and fear.

Then he had finally come home. His mother and father were … his mother and father. But then there was Fallon. Always Fallon. Amanda had been a surprise, and not an unwelcome one, but neither had she been a priority. And then she was gone.

Krystina had only vague memories of her half-sister, but she remembered loving her. She remembered Amanda playing with her when her older siblings were busy or consumed with their own children. Adam had never liked her, but he was always jealous of Blake's other children.

Amanda had been sweet and kind, always making time for her, never making her feel that she wasn't as much a sister as Fallon even though they only shared one parent.

"She was so beautiful," she whispered. "I remember thinking I had never seen anyone so beautiful. She looked like a princess."

Alexis anxiously cleared her throat and looked at Blake, eyes filled with fear and concern. "Did Adam say anything about her?" she desperately begged. "Is she all right?"

Blake sighed and shook his head. "He told me nothing. He said it was best to wait until we were all together."

"And I believe that to be true," Adam said, rushing into the room. "I am sorry to be so late," he said, honestly contrite, "but there was a pressing matter that demanded my attention."

"What's her name?" Krystle gently teased. She often got along better with Adam than the others did, though they'd had their moments over the years.

Most were very surprised when a blush blossomed across Adam's face.

"Dana," he said softly.

Blake and Krystle smiled. They had adored Adam's wife and were terribly sad when the two divorced. Alexis held her tongue; she had not been kind to Dana and had interfered far too often in her son's marriage, much to his detriment. The advantage of hindsight offered the opinion that Dana had been a good woman who had been made to suffer much. If Adam and Dana were reconciling after all of these years, she would support it unconditionally. She wanted her children to be happy.

"How is she?" asked an interested Fallon.

Adam's blush deepened. "She's well, thank you, and sends all of you her regards." He cleared his throat. "But that's not germane to this meeting." He placed his briefcase on the table. "I am very sorry to say that the news is not good."

Alexis gasped sharply as tears sprung in her eyes.

Blake closed his eyes and reached out blindly for Krystle's comforting hand.

"What do you mean?" Fallon asked, voice shaky.

"She's dead," Steven whispered. He raised his eyes to meet Adam. "Isn't she?"

Adam's breath caught. "Yes."

"Oh, my god," Krystina murmured, leaning against her mother.

"How?" Alexis demanded. "When?"

Adam sat down. "Not long after she left Denver. She changed her name and the paperwork was buried. I'm sure it cost a considerable amount to make that happen, but she made sure it did." He slowly exhaled. "She didn't want to be found."

He held up his hand in a silent plea for patience. "As to Mother's question, Amanda died of ovarian cancer eleven years ago," he imparted, tone heavy and rife with regret. "She was thirty-two."

"Jesus," Jeff muttered, holding tightly to Fallon.

"She also had a child."

Heads swiveled sharply in his direction.

"A son," Adam continued. "His name is Kurt."


	6. Identity

**Prompt #31 :** Relentless

 **Crossover :** _Glee/Surprise Fandom_. I don't want to give it away too soon. ;)

* * *

"I just don't understand what the big deal is!"

Kurt stared at Mercedes. His anger at her snooping through his belongings had long since evaporated. Honestly, he wasn't even that surprised. Well, perhaps that it had taken as long as it had. Truly the fault laid with him. He had been expecting it and therefore should have taken stronger precautions.

And, of course, this had to happen today of all days.

"It's just a place, Kurt," Mercedes said before sighing. "Look, I shouldn't have been looking through your drawers, but I really was only trying to find your flat iron! Besides, we agreed a long time ago that haircare emergencies trumped something trivial like privacy."

He winced. There was definite truth in her words.

Conscious of the other sets of eyes upon them, he released a slow, controlled breath.

"Mercedes," he said quietly, "there are things that are private, and then there are things that are _private_." His eyes met hers. "This is one those things."

Her own eyes widened in response, obliquely understanding the importance of her transgression.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely.

He covered his eyes with a hand and nodded weakly.

"Kurt?" Artie hesitantly asked. "Is everything okay? Are _you_ okay?"

"What exactly is the situation here?" Santana interrupted, eyeing Kurt with true concern. "There's nothing shocking about being born in Illinois. At least Illinois has Chicago. As a state, it beats Ohio hands down." She inched toward him. "So what's the real story, Tink?"

"You can trust us, Kurt," Rachel said.

He turned suspicious eyes on her.

She had the grace to blush and offer a little shrug. "Well, with the big things at least."

"And this is a Big Thing, right?" Puck guessed. "I've known you a lot of years, Princess, and I know when you get really quiet like this, it's time to worry."

Kurt bit his lip. "I never wanted you to know this. I didn't want this to touch you."

"Are you adopted or something?" interrupted an anxious Finn. "If you are, it doesn't matter. I mean, I guess it does, but you're still Kurt, you know? Burt loves you like whoa. We're still brothers no matter what. We always will be."

Kurt had watched too many movies to ignore the signs. When friends and family started making declarations of love, the shit was about to hit the fan. He just ... by now he knew better than to dismiss his intuition, Mercedes had found his birth certificate tonight for a reason.

"We need to get out of here," he said urgently. "We'll split up; half in my Navigator and the rest in Santana's Suburban." He shook his head. "Thank god Dad and Carole went away for the weekend."

"Kurt, what is going on?" Quinn demanded. "I'm not about to just get in a car and be driven who knows where without knowing why. Why are you so rattled? What does being born in Illinois have to do with anything?"

He nervously licked his lips. "I'm not adopted. Dad is my natural father and Mom was, well, my mom." He hesitated. "But she wasn't born Suzanne Hummel."

"Well, sure," said a reasonable Tina. "She had a maiden name."

"She did," Kurt said slowly, "but her first name wasn't Suzanne. She … she … oh, god."

Brittany and Sam immediately stood at his sides, wrapping him in a hug.

"Kurt, you know you can tell us anything, right?" Sam asked. "No matter what dramas we have going on with each other, we're a group. You come for one, you get us all. That's what Glee is all about."

"Damn right," Mike and Puck said simultaneously.

"I love you," Brittany whispered. "Nothing you could tell me would ever change that."

Kurt turned and stared into her eyes. Out of all of them – his best friends, his brother, the boy he loved, allies and rivals – he loved her the most. He had to protect her.

"I would die if anything happened to you," he breathed, shaking his head. "I couldn't go on if I lost you."

That just set all of Santana's warning bells off, but Puck grabbed her arm before she could voice her many objections. When she turned to glare at him, the fierce look on his face convinced her to stay quiet.

"And I would kill anything that tried to hurt you," Brittany said sharply, cocking her head. "That's what this is, right? Someone's after you. Not like Karofsky. Worse."

He gave a bleak nod.

"What about Karofsky?" asked a confused Finn.

"Doesn't matter," Quinn said quickly, ignoring the blatant stares of Mercedes and Rachel. "Kurt, what can we do? How can we help you?"

She flinched when he turned to look at her. "Try to live."

Artie blanched. "You're serious."

"Deadly."

"What does this have to do with your mother?" asked a spooked Tina.

"It's not her," Kurt said. "It's who she is. It's to whom she was born. It's her family."

"Your mom's family is after you?" Santana said. "You mean your aunt and grandmother?"

Kurt shook his head. "Lies. Camille was my mother's best friend, not her sister. Katrine is not my real grandmother, but she did help my mother fake her death. The first one, I mean."

"The first … what?" Rachel trilled.

" _Is_ your mother dead?" Puck asked.

"She is now," Kurt said. "She faked her death years before I was born to get away from her family. Katrine helped her before moving back to France. It wasn't long after that Mom met and married Dad. Then they had me. Then she died. You don't fake cancer unless you're a Real Housewife."

"The levity is unamusing," said a surprisingly lucid Brittany. "Why did your mother fake her death?"

"She was just following family tradition," said a bitter Kurt. "Her own mother faked her death, abandoning Mom into the foster care system before starting her life over in California. She even had another child."

"Then she's a fucking bitch," Santana snapped. "What kind of asshole does something like that?"

"Someone who's terrified," Kurt said quietly. "It's not an excuse, but I have to believe she was so traumatized and terrified, she honestly thought Mom would be better off without her, that she would draw his attention away from her daughter."

"Whose attention?" Mercedes asked.

"It didn't work," he continued. "He eventually found her, but he got to Mom first." He paused. "I … I don't know what happened to her when he had her." He looked down at the floor and swiped angrily at the tears falling from his eyes. "I know she had a baby during that time. A boy. I don't know what happened to him or if he's even still alive. I don't think Mom ever knew either."

"You have a brother?" Finn quietly asked.

"I have a _second_ brother," Kurt corrected. "You said always and meant it. So do I."

Finn gave him a pained smile, ashamed of his relief.

"And your father knows all of this?" Rachel asked.

"Of course. Dad's done his best to protect me, to keep me hidden from … him."

"Who is this guy, Kurt?" Sam demanded. "Why are you so scared of him? It's just one dude. You're not a pushover. I know how strong you are. You've got me, Finn, Puck, Mike, and Santana here to help you kick ass."

"Hey!" shouted those not mentioned.

Kurt reached and cupped his hand against Sam's cheek. "You have no idea. None. He is relentless. He is a _monster_. He should have been killed years ago, but he just. Never. _Dies_."

He looked back at Brittany. "You know now, don't you?"

She gave a fearful nod. "Haddonfield, Illinois. She went there to have you because he thought she was dead. It was her giving him the metaphorical finger. He might have ruined her life there, but she gave birth to a new one."

He forced a smile. "That's why you're the smartest one, Sweetness." He turned to face the rest. "My mother's real name was Jamie Lloyd. Her mother was Laurie Strode. Laurie's brother, my uncle, is Michael Myers."

They stared at him.

Puck finally burst out laughing. "Oh, come on! Even if that were true, Michael Myers is dead! Has been for years. And even if he wasn't, he'd be in his early hundreds by now."

"He's been presumed dead many times, Noah," Kurt whispered, "but he always comes back, and he's only fifteen years older than our parents."

Puck stopped laughing.

"He first came for Laurie the Halloween after she turned seventeen. My mother faked her death to get away from him on Halloween … after she had turned seventeen. When he last turned up, he had found Laurie living in California with her son – twenty years after that first night. Her son had just turned seventeen."

"Probably the only man who remembers his anniversaries," Santana said darkly.

"Tonight is Halloween," Sam said.

"Yes," Kurt agreed, "which is why we're half-dressed in our costumes." He clenched his jaw. "And we all know how old I turned on my last birthday."

"That doesn't mean anything!" Rachel insisted. "I know the stories, Kurt. I've read about them. Laurie Strode killed Michael Myers ten years ago on Halloween."

"No, she didn't," Quinn interrupted, face white with fear. "You obviously didn't do your due diligence, Rachel. Michael Myers faked his death _again_. He put his mask on the ambulance driver and that was who Laurie killed. She had a psychotic break when she found out and was institutionalized. Michael Myers killed her at the asylum the next Halloween."

Rachel paled and leaned against the chair, equally shocked that Quinn knew something she didn't as she was about the fact that Michael Myers was alive.

"Did he?" Kurt asked.

Quinn stared. "It was pretty widely reported, Kurt! There was an autopsy. Her son made a statement."

"And then he disappeared." He arched a brow. "Coincidence?"

"None of this presupposes Myers knows about you," Mike said reasonably. "Why would he? As far as he knows, Laurie and Jamie are dead. If he was out there looking for the last of his family, wouldn't he go looking for Jamie's first child?"

"How do we know Michael hasn't already found him?" Kurt countered. "No one knows who he is or what happened to him."

"That still doesn't mean the Bogeyman is after you," Puck said flatly, "but I'm not standing around here waiting to find out." He shook his head. "Look, Princess, I did you a lot of wrong, but you're my boy now. I, like, kind of love you and shit. So for the sake of argument, let's say you're right and Uncle Mikey wants a family reunion. I say we use your plan and get the hell out of here."

"Puck's right," Santana said. "This is too big for us. That fucker has been shot in the head how many fucking times? He doesn't die. He's been stabbed, shot in both eyes and six times in the chest, run over with a car, and set on fire. I don't know what the fuck he is, but I'll be just fine not finding out. Let's go."

"You can't be serious!" Rachel squawked.

"Bump that, Junior Miss," Mercedes said. "This shit just got way too real. I've seen enough horror movies to know that I, as a black chick, do _not_ want to be around here when a psycho killer pops up." She turned to Mike. "Right?"

"To quote you, _hell to the naw_ ," he agreed. He leaned down and scooped Artie up into his arms. "Finn, get the chair. We're getting the fuck out of here."

Finn stood and raced toward the hall closet. "Puck, get the chair. I'm getting Burt's guns."

"Fuckin' A," Puck said.

"I thought guns couldn't kill him," said a snide Rachel.

"It's called a running start, dumbass," Santana sniped, "and if I get my way, you'll be the first sacrifice."

Finn came running back, arms filled. "Who here can shoot?"

Kurt, Puck, Sam, Santana, and, surprisingly, Brittany and Quinn raised their hands. Finn quickly passed them the weapons he had taken, leaving his arms empty. He could shoot, but his aim wasn't great. He knew it was much more likely he'd end up shooting himself or someone he cared about.

"Where will we go?" whispered a frightened Tina, tears streaking down her face.

"Who gives a shit?" Quinn volleyed. "Let's just keep driving until we run out of gas."

The others nodded and grabbed their purses and bookbags, quickly shedding the costumes they had donned over their athletic wear only moments before.

"Guys?" Mercedes softly called. "I don't think that's an option anymore."

They turned to find her staring out the front window.

There was a rumble of thunder and crash of lightning. The power was gone.

Another crash illuminated the white mask of a man standing across the street, staring at the house, head cocked and a butcher knife in his right hand.


	7. Valkyrie

**Prompt #26 :** Fury

 **Crossover :** _Glee/Surprise_

* * *

She stormed down a hallway that reeked of old cheese and mediocrity, her soft curls flying back from her shoulders. The full lips set in a grim frown almost appeared to be a pout. Sparkling brown eyes could have been mistaken as filled with merriment; only those who knew her well would see them as snapping Dobermans, the rancor and fury lurking within.

She ignored the stares. Even before the story broke last year, she was used to them. Nothing these people could say could hurt or intimidate her. The stench of their utter weakness assaulted her senses, forcing her to choke down bile. She was amused that, though they stared, they were quick to dive out of her way. En masse these idiots might be able to intimidate someone who didn't know better, someone whom they had tried to beat down into submission; to her, they were nothing but offal unworthy of marring the pristine red soles of her blindingly white Louboutins.

She sneered at the adolescent males who attempted to make eye contact. She met it unflinchingly, as she always did, and was never the first to look away. They recognized her as the predator she was, so far out of their league as to be ridiculous. She enjoyed making people feel the prey they so richly deserved to be.

She made an abrupt right turn, spiked heels echoing loudly, serving as both a herald and reminder of her presence. Her eyes darted around and her disgust only grew. Her lips tightened.

No, this would never do. This was absolutely unacceptable.

She glanced at the number beside the door, squared her shoulders, and threw it open, sauntering inside.

The singing and dancing immediately stopped.

"May I help you?" asked an annoyed voice.

She offered a slow blink in reply before turning toward the source, looking him up and down, and blinking again. A sweater vest? Really? "I sincerely doubt it."

And then her eyes landed on _him_ , her face softening. "I need to speak with you."

"What are you doing here?" asked a confused Kurt.

She arched a brow. "This discussion requires privacy."

He opened his mouth, but was summarily cut off.

"I don't know who you are," Will said, "but though this is a public school, there are still rules. You simply can't waltz around these halls at your leisure."

"I don't waltz, Mr. Schuester. I stomp."

"Dude," said a flabbergasted Puck, "how can you _not_ know who that foxy lady is? I mean, doesn't everybody?"

Will frowned.

"What the hell is someone like you doing here?" Mercedes barked at the intruder. "And what do you want with my boy?"

The woman laughed. "Little girl, he was _my_ boy long before he taught you to apply eyeliner properly. Thank goodness he did. I've seen the before pictures."

"Aw, hell naw!" Mercedes put her hands on her hips and glared. "If you think I'ma let some …"

"I truly hope you don't believe we're equals, Ms. Jones, or that we're going to be comparing ghetto passes. You don't want to antagonize me and you certainly can't intimidate me, regardless of how many pathetic threats you make to cut me. I know people who actually do that both for a living and for fun. I've kept them out of jail. They owe me favors."

Mercedes gaped, eyes filled with alarm.

Kurt sighed. "For those of you who don't know, please allow me to introduce Olivia Pope ..."

Several gasped.

"... my godmother."

* * *

"Not that seeing you isn't wonderful and a soothing balm to my weary person," Kurt said gently after removing them to an empty classroom, "but was that necessary?"

Her eyes softened. "Yes, it was, baby. I may not know these people, but I know them."

His eyes narrowed. "You mean aside from what I've told you. You've had them investigated."

She offered a demure shrug. "Of course, and they're lacking in essentials like character and intelligence."

"Please don't speak of my friends so callously," he said stiffly.

She repressed a sigh. "Are they truly your friends?"

He averted his gaze. "Some of them."

"Like the boy who is soon to become your stepbrother? Shall I count down Finn Hudson's greatest hits?"

He said nothing.

"Perhaps you meant your childhood best friends, Mr. Abrams and Ms. Cohen-Chang. The former ridicules you behind your back to placate his own sense of worthlessness and to impress and fit in better with the bullies who have been tormenting the both of you for years. The latter believes the bullying you've suffered is inconsequential to what she believes your entire club faces. Those friends?"

He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes, willing the tears back.

"What about the girl whose fathers are gay, who is possibly the only one who understands the dangers to which you are subjected, but doesn't offer to do more than sing with you to ease your loneliness?"

"Please stop," he whispered.

"And we both know Ms. Jones has benefited greatly from your protection but has never extended hers to you, instead standing on the sidelines and barking loudly like a clubbed seal."

"You've made your point."

"I haven't even finished opening arguments," she said. "We have yet to address that hockey player and his _sexual battery_ against you."

His eyes widened with humiliation and shame. "How do you know about that?" he hissed.

She sighed, her own eyes welling. "You don't even remember calling me last night, do you?"

"I didn't call you," he insisted.

"Yes, you did, honey. Shall I show you my phone? It logged the call."

"I … I don't remember."

"Did you take anything?" she asked, worried.

He flushed. "An Ambien. I haven't been sleeping well."

"No surprise there," she said bitterly. "You called me last night, Kurt, and you told me _everything_."

He was speechless and completely mortified.

"You've tried, baby, and I give you all the credit in the world for sticking this out for as long as you have, but it ends today. You don't owe these people anything. You have nothing to prove to them. You don't have to allow yourself to be abused to show your strength."

His hands clenched at his sides. "I don't do that!"

"Dumpster tosses. Pee balloons. Lawn furniture nailed to the roof. Port-A-Pottys. Vandalism. Telephonic harassment. Verbal and physical assault. And now sexual violence. You have to know, to understand, that these things _are not normal._ "

He said nothing.

"When is it going to end, Kurt? When will it be enough? When you're put into the hospital? When you're on a slab in the morgue? These people _aren't_ going to change. _You_ aren't going to change them. There's a distinct difference between renunciation and surrender."

"Hummels aren't quitters," he seethed.

"Oh, you're going with that? And do you really believe Burt would tout that line if he truly knew what went on in this school? Because I don't. Ideally he'd wrap you in cotton wool and hide you in your bedroom for the rest of your life. At the very least, he'd pack up the house and put it on the market by this evening. At the latest."

He face became mottled with rage. "I'm not going to force him to give up his house, his business, his … his _life_ … all because I can't handle …"

She slammed her open palm on the nearest desk. "This isn't about you not being able to handle a bunch of ill-bred, unintelligent, jealous little dickheads, Kurt!" she thundered. "It doesn't matter _how_ smart you are, how _tough_ you are, or how much you're foolishly willing to endure. The situation is _not_ going to change. _They_ are not going to change. You need to learn how to pick your battles, Kurt, because you're losing the war."

"I don't even know what that means," he spat mulishly.

"It means you're losing yourself," she whispered. "I look you and see only remnants of the child you were."

"I'm not a child anymore, Olivia."

"That's _Aunt Liv_ ," she snapped back. "Your mother was my best friend, Kurt. She was the only person in this entire world I trusted absolutely. I promised her on her deathbed that I would do right by you and I have failed. _Utterly_. I'm only surprised the woman hasn't found a way to resurrect herself just to kick my ass."

Against his will, he snorted, fighting the grin threatening to erupt.

"You cannot go on this way, honey. I won't allow it. Hell, _I_ can't go on this way. Not after that phone call, not after knowing what I know now. The teachers do nothing. The administration, whose alleged leader I've had the misfortune to meet, does nothing. They are never going to do anything. The only one who can change things is you."

He scoffed. "By running away?"

"Running from what?" she exploded. "Homophobia? Violence? Fear of _rape?_ Threats of _death?_ This isn't about discretion being the better part of valor. This isn't about sticking your head in the sand or hoping for the best."

"Then what it is it about?" he interrupted.

"This is about your _life_ , a life I want to see filled with the happiness you deserve! You have resources, Kurt. You have money, enough to go anywhere in the world and do anything you want. We both know you could've gotten your GED while still in _middle school_. Why are you still here?

"Why are you trying to prove something to people who don't care? Who are not and will never be willing to look past what they perceive as wrong to the person you are? How much more of your time, of your life, are you going to waste on them?"

"Instead I should just leave and let them win," he drawled, voice tinged with disgust as he rolled his eyes.

"Win _what?_ " she roared. "This isn't a competition! This isn't even about them anymore, Kurt. It's about _you_ being stubborn. It's about your _pride_. You're wasting and endangering your life on these small people and their small minds and small opinions. Why the fuck do you care so much? Why are you letting them _rule_ you?

"Because that's exactly what you're doing. You're allowing these people to control you. Every time they push you, every time they hurl slurs at you, every time they question your right to exist and you endure it? When you ignore it and don't report it or demand the authorities enforce the laws on the books _which also extend to you?_ You're dancing to their drum, not them to yours."

"You don't understand," he said plaintively, his last defense crumbling as soon as she had finished mounting hers.

"That retort is weak and beneath you," she said, eyes practically shooting sparks. "You deserve _better_ than this, Kurt. You wouldn't tolerate it if any of your so-called friends were under attack this way. You would be the first to cry racism or misogyny or hate crime. So _why_ are you demanding any less for yourself?"

"I don't know," he whispered, shaking his head, defeated. "I don't even know anymore."

"I do. It's because you have no one fighting for you. It's because you won't allow your father the right to do so – and it _is_ his right, Kurt. How dare you try to take it from him? It's because you're thoroughly exhausted. And that's where I come in."

He regarded her with suspicious eyes. "How?"

"By taking the decision out of your hands," she said reasonably. "You've been too close to the situation for too long. You know it's toxic but, for whatever reason, you can't see how badly it's poisoning you. So if you won't take action, I will."

"And what do you think you're going to do?"

She laughed. "Why, I'm going to be your fairy godmother, of course!" Her eyes hooded. "Since you won't tell your father what's been happening to you, _I_ will. And I mean _all_ of it, Kurt, including everything I know about Finn."

"You can't!"

"You can't stop me," she said easily. "I've known your father a lot longer than you have, Kurt, so I _know_ how he'll react. After all of the screaming and yelling, there will be the tears and self-recriminations and the unbearable hurt that you didn't trust your father to protect you."

He inhaled sharply.

"That's it, isn't?" she asked quietly. "You honestly believe he wouldn't take your side?" She shook her head in dismay. "Oh, honey, don't you know him it all?"

"He loves me, but I embarrass him. I … I shame him."

She choked on a sob and placed her hands on his shoulders. "What a pile of shit."

He startled. "W-What?"

"I don't know what's sadder: that you honestly believe that or that you've convinced yourself it's true. Baby, you are the _only_ person for whom Burt Hummel would fight. He doesn't care that you're gay. He might not understand it, but he isn't ashamed of it. He's _terrified_. He knows what this world can be like. He's terrified of what might happen to you, of what's _been_ happening to you right under his nose."

She sighed. "He won't thank you for trying to protect him, Kurt. He'll be ashamed that you felt it was necessary. He'll be horrified that he missed so many signs, which, looking back, he'll see clear as day. He'll be angry at himself. He'll be disappointed in himself. He'll be devastated that he failed you so badly."

"He didn't fail me!"

"He won't see it that way, Kurt, and you know it."

His shoulders slumped.

"So here's what's going to happen," she continued. "You're sixteen. You're going to walk with me to the Principal's office, where you will resign from this … institution. Then we're going to go to your house, where you will pack a few bags and come back with me to DC. You're going to live with me until you finish school."

His eyes widened to the size of hubcaps and he began shaking his head.

"We'll send for the rest of your things. I've already secured you a spot at Woodville Academy."

"But … but that's where the _President's children_ go to school!"

She gave him the side-eye. "And where there's a strict no-bullying policy which is adamantly enforced."

She exhaled. "What, you think you can't hack it there?" She rolled her eyes. "Kurt, you have a near-genius IQ. You have a perfect GPA. You have multiple academic awards. You're a National Merit Scholar. If you combine your AP and Achievement Exam scores, you've already received credit for two semesters of college. You're fluent in six languages. You have multiple awards for piano, voice, and dance. You have a national cheerleading title under your belt."

He blinked owlishly.

"If you won't open doors for yourself, Kurt, I'll happily do it for you. You're going to live in our nation's capital and attend one of its premier academic institutions. You're going to attend the opera and the ballet and the symphony whenever you want. You'll have the entire Smithsonian Institution at your disposal. You will visit the Library of Congress. You will watch House and Senate meetings and learn how this country works. You will meet congressmen and senators, the movers and shakers who run this country and can affect change."

His mouth fell open.

"If you fight me, I will sue your father for custody. I'm a lawyer, Kurt, and this is my arena. I play for keeps and I play to win. Even if I don't, I will take the Ohio State Bar and file countless motions and lawsuits on your behalf. I will bury this town in national media attention. If I have to drag them single-handedly into the twenty-first century, I will. If I have to kidnap you and have you deprogrammed to get you out of this godforsaken hellhole, I will. I don't care who I have threaten, cajole, or destroy to make you happy. I'll do it with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, and, I promise, no one will see me coming."

His breathing quickened.

"You will go to the Harbor and Georgetown and DuPont Circle. You will shop at Pentagon City and Tysons Corner. You will go to gay clubs and bookstores and safe places for LGBT youth. You will meet others like you. You will meet people who see _you_ , not just some visual aid for a sacred text people cherry-pick to bolster weak arguments. You're going to be _Kurt Hummel_. Not Gay Kid. Not Lady Face. Not Porcelain or Princess. Not anymore. Just Kurt."

His eyes welled. "I don't think I even know who he is."

She drew him into a hug. "Of course you do. You've just buried him beneath this hard shell which was never your onus to bear."

"Dad …"

"You leave your father to me."

He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. "I never had a chance, did I?"

"Not a one," she agreed. "Not here."

He laughed. "I meant against you."

"Never. Congratulations, Kurt Hummel. You've just been Poped."


	8. Unforgiven

**Prompt #48** **:** Unacceptable

 **Warnings :** Not Blaine or Klaine friendly

* * *

 _What a little asshole_.

Those were the words playing over and over in his mind as he watched Blaine commit blasphemy by sullying the memory of one of the greatest vocalists of the twentieth century.

That crime alone demanded punishment.

He wished he were surprised but, sadly, he wasn't. The part of him that he tried so vainly to repress, that which was the bitter and cynical little boy he no longer desired to be, had been whispering at him for weeks to expect this. Longer, really. Perhaps even from the moment Sebastian Smythe had announced himself as the heartless, shallow deviant that he was.

And Blaine.

Poor, simple, foolish Blaine Anderson, who honestly believed he meant more to Sebastian than an easy lay. In the end, however, that's all he had proved himself to be.

The unmitigated gall of this performance was thoroughly obnoxious. How dare this arrogant, shameless Thumbelina stand up there before their peers and beat his breast while singing about how he had been done wrong?

Kurt was mildly surprised, and therefore only mildly disappointed, by just how effective it was. He watched with a casual eye as the glee club, allegedly comprised of those who purported to be _his_ friends, once again fell under Blaine's spell.

Only those who truly knew Blaine, which were none of these people, would have recognized the gleam in his eyes so obvious to Kurt. Facetiously self-effacing to the point of meekness, Blaine often insisted he was ignorant of how he was perceived, but Kurt knew better. The sad fact was that he himself had always recognized the Blaine Effect, but he had ignored, had abetted and encouraged it, all for the sake of having a boyfriend.

That was just pathetic and he was disgusted with himself for allowing it. He deserved more, was worth more, than the waxing and waning attentions of a self-aggrandizing narcissist with a Napoleon complex and delusions of adequacy.

But it was just more of the same, wasn't it? Kurt had sabotaged himself, had willingly sacrificed himself and his ideals, for the meager crumbs thrown at him by someone who could never love anyone as much as he loved himself.

The Gap Attack should have been the first clue – and it had been – but Kurt had overlooked it in favor of _pitying_ the boy who, by all accounts, had stalked, publicly humiliated, and ultimately gotten fired a man who had no idea who Blaine Anderson was.

Instead, Kurt had felt sorry for Blaine, forcing himself to see not a dickhead, but a young boy who had supposedly misread the allegedly mixed signals of an older man.

He definitely owed Jeremiah a muffin basket for misjudging him so badly.

Next had been that debacle at Rachel's party. He had forgiven them for their foolish behavior, ashamed by his own reaction to Blaine's possible bisexuality, never giving a thought to the struggle that Brittany had faced and dealt with long ago. He should have been more understanding, yes, but for Blaine to throw Karofsky in his face?

Kurt knew he should've walked away right then; again, he hadn't because he thought having a boyfriend was more important, that it would prove, if only to himself, that he was, in fact, desirable.

But Blaine had never made him feel desired, only tolerated at best and pitied at worst, and Kurt had forced himself to let that be enough. Until Blaine, he had never realized the depth of his myriad insecurities. Then he had been stupid and naïve enough to share them with Blaine, who had in turn used them against him. Subtly at times, yes, and at others not so much, but the manipulation was painfully obvious if you knew where to look.

Kurt had known, but dismissed it as ultimately inconsequential. After all, wasn't that how relationships just worked? Finn and Quinn. Finn and Rachel. Quinn and Puck. Puck and Mercedes. Artie and Tina. Santana and Brittany. Santana and everyone. Schuester and his various … liaisons.

He didn't know about Tina and Mike. He and Tina were no longer close and he had never really spoken more than a handful of words to Mike.

It was a startling realization just how much the behavior of his peers had informed his ideas of romance. On the surface, he knew their behavior was ridiculous, but he must have been speculative, wondering if it was simply unacknowledged acceptance, and internalized it.

He had idealized his parents' marriage and desperately wanted that kind of relationship for himself, but his notions of their marriage were rooted in childish thoughts and observations. He knew his parents had loved each other deeply, but he really knew nothing about their marriage.

Baby penguin.

Jesus, how that had infuriated him then! Instead he had focused on the hurt, not the outrage. And, really, had he based his opinions of his own desirability according to the living embodiment of Vanity Smurf?

The audacity of speaking to his father about sex had been beyond the pale. Whatever intimacy issues Kurt was experiencing were his own. Blaine, as his supposed partner, should have been respectful of that and of him. As usual, he had been ridiculously inappropriate and couched his irrationality in helpfulness. It wasn't that Blaine had been wrong, no, it was that Kurt _didn't understand_ that it was for his own good.

Gross.

Good lord, had he just been completely unconscious these past few months? He couldn't even fault Blaine. Well, not totally. Yes, the vacuum between Blaine's ears might indeed have been the cradle of idiocy, but Kurt was responsible for not calling him on his bullshit. His silence had not only indicated acceptance of Blaine's shenanigans, but authorization to continue being a fuckwit.

And what did it amount to in the end? He had returned to McKinley where the bullying was perhaps more circumspect, but still a part of his everyday life. He was once again sidelined in New Directions. Not only did Rachel continue to hog the spotlight, but Kurt himself was unwittingly responsible for providing her with a partner to do so.

Now, here Blaine stood, bleating shamelessly about Kurt's alleged cheating, when he had in fact done no such thing. Were his texts with Chandler ill-advised? Perhaps. Had he truly done anything wrong? No, definitely not.

So what was he going to do about this?

Well, as Kurt saw it, he had one of two options.

The first, since Blaine was apparently putting the ball in his court, was to wait this out and then take his lumps. That meant let Blaine finish his song, shed a few tears, and then sorrowfully shuffle his way to the front and sing, with great conviction, some classic dependent victim song in which Blaine was perfect and Kurt himself was the scum of the earth.

Looking at the reproachful glares of Rachel, Finn, Mercedes, and Tina, this was exactly what he, as half of this asinine _Klaine_ monster, was supposed to do.

No, thank you.

The second, which was far more palatable and reminiscent of the man he thought he once was but had been lost, was to call bullshit on all of this and put these people on notice once and for all.

Yes. A much better option.

He turned toward Brittany, who was staring at him in confusion. He knew that she knew he would never cheat on Blaine. He wouldn't cheat on anybody. He simply didn't operate that way.

But his friendship with her had faltered. Admittedly, much of that was his fault. He had gone off to Dalton, slunk back with his tail between his legs, and allowed Blaine to consume his life. He had distanced himself from Brittany not out of any malice, but out of fear. Fear she would ask questions which he didn't want to answer. Well, now was the time to answer.

Unfortunately, Quinn and Santana were a draw. He loved them dearly and considered them far better friends than he ever had Mercedes or Rachel, but they too were on the Blaine Blame Train, which was veering straight at Kurt. Quinn's heart had been broken so many times that she, unfairly or not, now viewed Kurt as yet another guy who had done someone wrong. Yet another in a long line of endless male disappointments. That he had never hurt her was irrelevant.

As for Santana, she was projecting the abominable way she had treated Brittany onto him. That was something he refused to accept. No one was responsible for Santana _but_ Santana, and she would have to pay the piper for her dismissal of a relationship she wanted more than her own life. It was not his job to be her mirror.

Artie was useless. That was nothing new. He always caved to popular opinion, whatever it was, and was so desperate to be one of the boys he had no problem throwing Kurt under the bus.

Puck was a wild card on which he couldn't truly depend. He and Noah had made a lot of progress in their strange but welcome friendship, but what was true of Santana also applied to Noah, who had far greater expectations of Kurt than he did of himself.

That just left Sam.

Sam, who had wanted to sing with him.

Sam, who had fought for him. Who would have continued fighting if Kurt hadn't run away.

Sam, who had once been accused of something similar, coincidentally with Kurt, and understood the power of rumor and gossip.

Sam, who he had forced himself to stop thinking about months and months ago.

Sam, for whom Kurt still held a tiny candle in the window of his heart and was terrified Sam might one day see the light and walk right on by.

Sam, who would sometimes look at him and Kurt would force himself to turn away, because down that road was the potential for serious hurt. Sam could hurt him far more than Blaine ever could. Because … well, because …

Kurt wasn't in love with Sam, no, but knew he could be.

It would be so easy to fall in love with Sam.

And the truth was that Kurt, who wanted so desperately to be in love, didn't want to be in love with Sam. He knew he wouldn't be able to hide from Sam, not the way he had hidden so many parts of himself away from Blaine. Because Sam would never settle. He would ferret out those secrets, those feelings, and then … Sam would _know_ him. Well and truly know him.

That was terrifying.

 _That_ was _intimate_.

He shook his head to clear away those distressing thoughts. He had no business thinking of Sam. Not in that way.

But unlike the others, the anger in Sam's eyes was not directed at him. Not completely.

Sam was angry that Kurt wasn't fighting back. Not that Kurt had to defend himself against these scurrilous charges, but that Kurt was once again sitting back and letting Blaine speak for both of them. Just as he had been doing all of these months.

Letting Blaine speak for him. Letting Blaine make all the decisions.

Why had he done that?

Because it was easy. Because Kurt Hummel wanted, for once, an easy life.

But life wasn't easy, it wasn't meant to be, and he wasn't owed anything.

If he wanted to be happy, he had to seize it. And that started with choosing happiness for himself.

He knew he would never be happy with Blaine. He would never be himself with Blaine. Kurt Hummel would cease to exist and all that would be left would be some horrible Klaine amalgamation where Used To Be Kurt just smiled and nodded at everything Blaine said or did.

Well, fuck that.

He calmly withdrew his phone from his pocket and sent out a group text, which was nothing more than a forward of every so called flirty text he had shared with Chandler. They could judge for themselves just how unfaithful he had been. Not that he gave a shit. He was done being judged by these people.

He then texted Sam and Brittany, who were the only ones paying attention to their phones. The others were far too busy willingly letting Blaine hold them in his thrall.

They nodded.

Kurt nodded in kind, stowed his phone, placed his hands in his lap, and waited.

Blaine finished eking out his little ditty and reveled in the applause, though his kicked puppy expression suggested he really wished all of this hadn't been necessary.

Did Blaine honestly believe the lies he told himself or was he just that good an actor?

Kurt no longer cared. The bottom line was that, for all his talent, Blaine was never going to be the leading man.

He was the first to jump to his feet and applaud loudly, which totally threw off everyone else, who sat and stared at him.

"Very well done, Blaine," he said smoothly.

" … what?" asked a baffled Blaine.

"Your arrangement was excellent," Kurt continued. "I'm most impressed with the tremendous effort you surely had to expend to scale back the majestic Ms. Houston's vocal embellishments. It must have been so difficult. Thank you for sharing it with us."

"Ooh, _burn_ ," said a now very interested Puck, leaning forward in his seat. No one threw shade like the Duchess.

 _No one_.

"Kurt …" Blaine chidingly began.

"Oh!" Kurt exclaimed. "Was there more?" He shook his head in mock sorrow. "I guess interpreting lyrics never really was your forté. It's too bad you can never let the song stand on its own." He waited a beat and then cocked his head. "Did you have something else to say?"

Blaine predictably puffed out his chest and shook his head. "My artistry speaks for itself."

"It certainly does," Kurt agreed.

Again, Blaine was confused.

"Kurt," Rachel hissed, "I really don't think you're being fair to Blaine. After all, you're the one …"

"I didn't ask."

She blinked harshly … and shut up.

He sniffed and nodded. "I think it's about time I addressed this poor version of the Harper Valley PTA."

Sam, the only one who understood the reference, snickered darkly.

"Sam?" Kurt said. "Brittany?"

"Yay!" Brittany cheered, bouncing over to him.

"Brittany," Blaine said in a small, hurt voice.

"What?" she demanded.

Startled, he stared at her.

"You've said what you wanted, now it's Kurt's turn," she said easily. "Isn't that what this is supposed to be all about?" She scratched her head. "I mean, I know since you've replaced Finn …"

"He didn't replace me!" Finn barked.

"When was the last time you sang lead?"

His mouth fell open, but no sound emerged.

"Instead of the _Rachel and Finn Variety Hour_ ," Sam said, "this club is now _The Blaine and Rachel Show_." He shook his head. "All of you who thought Kurt and Rachel were the same person with different equipment, do you get how wrong you were? Rachel and Blaine's constant duets are the ultimate masturbatory fantasy."

"That's inappropriate, Sam," Will scolded.

Sam turned toward him and raised a brow. "No, what's inappropriate is that you continually ignore more than half the members here in a lame attempt to relive your glory days with your own glee club."

"That is not true!" Will said hotly.

"Right," Sam drawled, "and how many times have you cast yourself as the lead opposite Rachel?"

"You've all had solos!"

"Kurt hasn't."

Will colored and fell silent.

"And please don't trot out that tired line that Kurt is inappropriate. I don't know what your bias is against him, Schue, but it's there. We've all seen it. Kurt has the largest range in this club. And even if we're just talking about range he can comfortably sing, his is still greater than hers."

Rachel became very still.

"Now I know I'm not a vocal teacher," Sam continued, "but I am a musician. From what I've heard, Rachel is a soprano whose range is two octaves, one note, and a semitone." He paused. "Is that right?"

"Yes," Will said slowly, surprised.

"And Kurt is a lyric countertenor with a three-point-one octave range which goes from A2 to Bb5."

Everyone, Kurt included, stared at him. It was obvious Sam had been paying more attention to Kurt than anyone realized.

"It's not just about octaves, Sam."

"You're right," Sam agreed, "and, like I said, I'm not a vocal teacher. Rachel is a wonderfully technical singer with an excellent grasp of her voice as a whole. Everything she does is always well supported. Her modal register is crystal clear and she's easily able to mix it with her head voice to reach the higher belts. Her intonation and diction are flawless."

"All true," Rachel said happily.

Sam looked askance at her. "You're also melodramatic and overly theatrical, which gives the impression show tunes and power ballads are the limit of what you can do. Your chest voice can be overly piercing and your high notes often border on shrill. That doesn't take into account those awful faces you make when you belt. You're so concerned with the technicality that, though you sing everything perfectly, there's no emotion in your delivery. You don't interpret songs, Rachel, you just sing them. That makes you a singer, not a vocalist."

Her mouth fell open and she flushed with embarrassment and rancor.

Sam smiled. "But like I said, I'm not a vocal teacher."

"And Kurt's so perfect?" Rachel howled.

"No one is perfect, Rachel, but I _believe_ everything Kurt sings. He doesn't mimic the original production; he makes it his own. He rearranges the music and rewrites the lyrics. He makes it personal to him, which in turn makes it personal for his audience. It becomes a shared experience. He invites us to participate with him. He might not have experienced everything he sings, but he makes us believe that he has, and that makes the lyrics relatable. It makes all the difference."

"Kurt's notes are light but strong. He has an easily identifiable voice that can be sweet and lyrical or powerful and piercing. You don't need to see the face to recognize the voice. He's completely unique. No one else sounds like him. You can make yourself sound like Barbra Streisand or Céline Dion and that's great, but they have record contracts. We know what they can do."

He looked at the others. "How many of you have Rachel or Blaine on your iPods?"

There was some discreet coughing and turning of heads.

"And how many of you have Kurt?" he asked, raising his own hand.

Brittany's hand shot up immediately, quickly followed by Santana and then Quinn. Next was Mercedes, then Finn and Puck. Then Mike. Finally, Artie and Tina.

Sam nodded. "Rachel and Blaine are impressive and I'm not arguing otherwise, but when you put your buds in, are their voices the ones you really want to listen to on your own time? I have dozens of files of Kurt. I listen to them all day long. My brother and sister asked for copies. So did my parents."

Quinn fidgeted. "My mom asked for her own."

Puck shrugged. "I listen to Princess all the time. His techno stuff is awesome during workouts."

"Techno?" Rachel faintly repeated.

"I really like his arias," Tina shyly admitted.

Will stared at Kurt. "You sing opera?"

Sam laughed and shook his head. "You and Rachel, you're so technical, so knowledgeable, and you pay such careful attention to how all of us sing, right?"

"Of course," Will said sternly.

"Absolutely," Rachel insisted.

"Well, this was before my time, but I've heard about that little Diva Off, the one in which Mr. Hummel had to come down here and threaten to sue the school just to get Kurt a shot?"

He held up his hand to stave off their interruption.

"And since you're such good students of music, you had to know then that Kurt blew that note on purpose. There's no way you _didn't_ know. I've heard him hit it since. He's done so in this room. Often. He's gone beyond it. Often. I've heard him easily make high G." He raised a brow. "And higher."

"Wait, what?" Santana demanded. She turned to Kurt. "Is that true?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"The hell it doesn't," Puck said. "I was all in and doubling down on you, Duchess, until that note."

A chorus of nods echoed his statement.

Mercedes was mortified, humbled, and not a little ashamed.

Sam turned back to Will. "You never questioned it, did you? I bet you never even asked why he blew that note. It was easier not to, right? That way, Rachel won, which is really all that concerns you."

"That is _not true_."

"Yes, it is," Quinn said quietly, "and it's the same with Blaine. It's Rachel all over again. You put them front and center while handing the rest of us a rose to wave in the chorus line." She sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Kurt."

"There was no reason for you to know."

Her eyes met his. "That's not why."

He looked down on the floor and gave a small nod, color rising high in his cheeks.

"None of this is relevant!" Blaine whined.

"Of course not," Brittany agreed. "After all, it's not about you. And if it's not about you, then it doesn't matter. Right, Blaine?"

"He cheated on me!"

Kurt pursed his lips and nodded. "Assuming facts not in evidence, but all right, let's go with that theory." His gaze widened. "Everyone please check your phones."

They all complied.

"There's the extent of any and all communication I've ever shared with Chandler."

Santana was the first to dive in. After ten seconds, her brow furrowed and she frowned. "Wait, that's it?" She looked over at Blaine and scowled. "This is _it?_ "

"This is _nothing_ ," Quinn sniffed. "I've read more salacious things on the bathroom walls of retirement centers and kindergartens. It barely even qualifies as flirting."

Finn looked hard at Blaine. "Dude, all I see here is some kid telling Kurt over and over again that he thinks my brother is cute and nice. Kurt thanks him a lot and replies with smilies and winky faces." His lips thinned. "That's it? That's all you've got? _Really?_

"Oh, wait, no. Here's something else. Kurt wrote a long paragraph that basically says he feels like his boyfriend is bored with him. The boyfriend can't be bothered to return calls or texts, cancels dates at the last minute for unknown reasons, and flirts constantly with another boy who picks on Kurt and calls him names whenever they meet. The boyfriend complains whenever Kurt tries to kiss him outside of their …" he looked down and squinted, "… _scheduled makeout time?_ "

Blaine flushed.

Puck threw up his arms. "Are you kidding me? If you're gonna be gay, you pick a guy like Hummel. You hit it on the regular and then tell everyone about it so they know how lucky you are."

"Huh?" asked a startled Tina.

Puck rolled his eyes. "Really, Gothica, you were friends with the Duchess for how many years?" He shook his head. "Look, gay or not, you can't look at Kurt and see anything but an incredibly hot dude. Blank? Not so much." He turned toward Kurt. "You definitely downgraded, even from Finn, which I didn't think was possible."

Mike glared at Blaine. "And you bring this bull here, to us, and stage some grand production about how he did you wrong?" he demanded. He then scoffed. "More like you just wanted to milk the spotlight _again_." He shook his head in disgust. "And Kurt was right: you should let Whitney rest in peace. She suffered enough."

Blaine crossed his arms defensively across his chest. "He probably deleted some of the texts!"

"Would you like to read them, Blaine?" Kurt asked reasonably. "You'll see I deleted nothing. After all, you've read them before, correct? When you went through my phone behind my back."

"Aw, hell no," Mercedes said, standing up. "I've had enough of this shit. I'll be the first to admit I've been a crap friend to Kurt lately." She blushed. "Part of it was because I know I've overstepped way too many times in the past and I didn't want to be accused of interfering in your relationship."

Her eyes narrowed. "I even tried to be your friend so that Kurt would understand I was on his side, that I supported him, but you knew that, right? You played on it. You isolated him from me and me from him. You came between us because you knew eventually I'd see through your bullshit and have no problem telling Kurt. But the worst part? I let you do it."

She shook her head. "I'll never forgive myself for that. The first time I met you, my gut told me you didn't deserve him. I should have paid attention."

"Do you really mean that?" Kurt quietly asked.

Her nod was frantic. "Yes, baby. I backed off because I wanted you to have your happy ending. You deserve that. You deserve everything. I know how I can be and you've let me get away with a lot, stuff you probably should've called me out for doing." She bit her lip. "But at the end of the day? _You're_ my boo, not this jumped-up hipster wannabe who needs to be deported ASAP back to Fraggle Rock … preferably with my foot in his ass."

"All of you need to sit down and think before you speak," Will angrily interrupted. "Attacking each other like this solves nothing!"

Mercedes stomped across the room and got in his face. "You need to have _several_ seats, Schue. Don't think because the topic shifted that we weren't paying attention to what that fine-ass white boy was saying," she thundered, pointing at Sam. "I've had enough of playing second-fiddle to a prima donna you've convinced yourself is the only person in this club who can sing."

He opened his mouth.

"Think hard, Schue," she seethed, "because if you say the wrong thing right now, I guarantee that come tomorrow Barbra Berry and her Brillo Pad will be the _only_ ones who show up to perform."

His eyes widened as he stared at her before slowly panning to the others.

Quinn shrugged. "In this case, I agree fully with Mercedes."

"I don't need to be here to sing," Brittany said.

"If I wanted to be ignored and abused," Santana said, "I'd clone myself and do double Cheerios duty."

"Now that's not fair, Santana," Kurt said.

Will sighed in relief.

"Ms. Sylvester actually allows you to prove yourself," he finished.

Santana paused in thought and at last nodded. "True facts."

Will groaned and dropped his head. Was it really as bad as they were claiming? Was … was _he_ as awful a teacher as they suggested?

"What I've never understood, Mr. Schuester," Kurt said, not unkindly, "is why you view Rachel as this club's salvation. Yes, she is an extraordinary singer. No one is debating that. However, Mercedes, Artie, Tina, and I have put in equal time here, yet we are continually passed over for everyone else, including those with far less seniority. No matter how you cut, it simply is unfair."

Will drew in a sharp breath.

"Originally I believed your problem was with me, because I'm gay."

Will's eyes widened in horror. "No! Kurt, _no!_ I swear! I have absolutely no problem with you being gay!"

Kurt gave him a long, critical look. "I believe you," he said at last. "Ignoring me repeatedly was one thing, but ignoring Artie, whose tenor is more rich and full than any other male in this room is short-sighted. Mercedes' range is superior to Rachel's and her tremendous belting ability is beyond measure. Tina is absolutely brilliant."

His eyes narrowed. "That debacle with _True Colors_ demonstrated clearly that Rachel not only expects to be given the lead on every song, but feels fully entitled to demand it. It was only for rehearsal, not a show piece, but Rachel stormed out of the room like some overblown, arrogant diva and then expected us to come crawling back to her."

He shook his head. "Say what you want about Sandy Ryerson, and I've certainly said my share about him and his wandering hands …"

"His _what!_ " Finn, Sam, Puck, and Mike bellowed.

" … but he never would have allowed that behavior, nor would he have allowed her to come back. He would've wished her well and that would've been the end of it." He turned to Rachel. "You know I'm right."

She said nothing, but her eyes betrayed her.

"Please answer this question truthfully, Rachel: back then in freshman year, when it was only the five of us and we weren't competitively viable, didn't you have more fun than you do now? It was about the _singing_ , not awards. We were small, we fought and argued, but we all sang together: duets, trios, quartets and quintets. We were a _true choir_."

He sighed. "Now we're nothing more than fractured squads whose allegiances shift according to whom we're dating or gossiping about. This room used to be my haven, my one safe place in the school where I felt welcomed and appreciated. I don't feel that any more. Every day I come in here wondering what awaits me: friends or a firing squad."

"You're not … you're not entirely wrong," she whispered. "We sang because we were moved, because we were inspired, and there were no limits placed on the material. It was about what was right for us, not watering down our feelings and pain to make them more marketable. It wasn't about trophies; it was about people." Her eyes closed. " _People … people who need people …_ "

"Stop," Tina hissed. "Now."

Rachel stopped.

Tina looked down at her hands, wringing themselves in her lap. She had really fucked up here. She glanced at Artie, who looked pale and wan. They had chosen the wrong side.

The question was _why?_

What was about Blaine that had so dazzled them? A glance at Artie showed he was wondering the same.

Sure, Blaine had flattered them, but looking back on it now, it had been an obvious ploy to isolate them from Kurt, just as he had done with Mercedes. Had they really been so shallow as to glom onto some showboat who mumbled pretty words? Ones they had perhaps been desperate to hear because they knew those words would never come from Schue?

They hadn't missed Kurt's defense of them just now. He wasn't one to offer lavish praise unless it was warranted. He could be critical, even cutting, but only when asked and he was never untruthful.

Perhaps Rachel was right and it was all about marketing. Blaine was, on the surface at least, the _nice_ Kurt. He wanted everyone to like him and went out of his way to accomplish it, even though it was much more likely that his words and deeds were machinations. Blaine was the attentive friend, the life of the party, and the more palatable version of Kurt. Blaine was gay, attractive, talented, and confident.

But Kurt was also confident; he just wasn't showy. He didn't care if you liked him or not and, honestly, wasn't that preferable? Wasn't it better to know someone was your friend because they wanted to be and not because they were using you to prop up themselves? Wasn't it better to want friends rather than fans?

When push came to shove, both Artie and Tina knew they could call Kurt in the middle of the night for anything and he would come running – even now, after their relationships with him had fallen so far. They couldn't say the same about Blaine.

"What about me!" Blaine exploded.

Santana turned toward him and offered a lazy blink. "Are you still here?"

"This is all very entertaining," Kurt said, "but let's hurry this along. The unwritten rule in this club has always been that, if someone sings about you, you're entitled to respond, so I wish to do that now. Then I will leave. I haven't decided whether or not I'll be back."

"Kurt," Rachel said softly, "you need us. We need you."

"You need me to fill a quota. I don't need this club, Rachel, not anymore."

"We're sorry about …"

"This isn't about Blaine," he interrupted. "Well, perhaps obliquely it is. It's about the fact that I'm virtually ignored. It's about the fact that my talent not only isn't showcased, it's not even recognized. It's about the fact that, on the basis of absolutely nothing, you sided with Blaine over me. You didn't even ask for my side; you just took his."

She looked down.

"How long have we known each other, Rachel? Would I do that to you?"

"Probably not," she admitted. "I really am sorry."

"That's fine," he said, "but we both know it's only a matter of time before we're at each other's throats again. I'm over it. I've _been_ over it. As Brittany said, I don't need to be here to sing. I'm tired of being overlooked and disrespected. Sue has asked me to take over the Cheerios again and I've accepted."

"What?" asked a startled Quinn.

He nodded. "My first order of business was to appoint you, Brittany, and Santana as my co-captains. There's no reason there should be only one. We each have our weaknesses and strengths. We each have our allies and detractors on the squad. I know that we will work well together. I trust all of you to do your best for the team. We're going into our last year and we're going to win everything."

"Hell, _yes_ ," Santana moaned. She knew just how lucky she was. She hadn't had a hope or prayer that Sylvester would make her captain and accepted she'd be once again Quinn's enforcer. She couldn't even express to Kurt how much this meant to her. Even if she could, she wouldn't. It wasn't her style and he wouldn't care. Which was why he was so fucking awesome.

Quinn was grateful. She had accepted the captaincy but had the sneaking suspicion Sue had been setting her up for something and most likely would have replaced her prior to Regionals. She knew Sue didn't like or even respect her. The other Cheerios, however, feared her and Sue was more than happy to capitalize on that.

Sylvester _did_ like Kurt, however. It said a lot that she didn't even bother trying to hide it anymore. That Kurt had pushed for her meant a lot.

Brittany was just happy she'd be spending more time with her favorite mammal.

"Are you really that unhappy here, Kurt?" Finn asked quietly.

"Aren't you?" his brother volleyed.

Finn said nothing for a long moment before at last nodding slowly. "Then you should go. I want you to be happy. If that's not here, I'll miss you a lot, but your happiness is more important."

Kurt stared, eyes wide, before he blinked harshly and fought the tears. "Thank you, Finn," he said roughly. "No one besides Dad has ever said that to me before."

"We shouldn't have waited so long to tell you," Mercedes whispered. She shook her head and cleared her throat. "Go on then, boy. Get up there and show us what you can do. It's been too damn long since I've heard you wail."

He smiled and nodded, turning toward Sam and Brittany. "You're still with me?"

"Always," they both said.

Kurt ducked his head, smiling.

"I can't believe this is happening," Blaine muttered.

"Can't believe we finally saw through you, you mean," Mike said. "Shame on us. Go on, Kurt."

"Thanks, Mike," Kurt said, smiling.

"We're sorry, Kurt," Artie and Tina said simultaneously.

He studied them. "I know," he finally said. "There have been mistakes all the way around." He forced out a breath. "Let's … let's not do that anymore, okay? You both are too important to me. I should have said that before."

Tears streaked down Tina's face.

"We should have known," said a rueful Artie. "You've never given us any reason to think otherwise."

Finally, Kurt turned to Blaine. "I could forgive a lot of things, but not this. You lied. You lied _to_ me, you lied _about_ me, and you tried to use _my_ friends to bolster your weak argument. I hope you find someone to make you happy, Blaine, I really do, but I'm glad it won't be me."

"You … you're breaking up with me?" Blaine gasped.

Kurt cocked his head. "You never even imagined that scenario, did you?" He laughed. "You honestly thought I'd just take whatever you dished out with a smile on my face. I'm not your Stepford wife. You probably thought you could use me, screw me, and then leave me when something better came along. What you've never understood, plebeian, is that there _is_ no better than me.

"What did you think was going to happen after your little performance? Oh, I know: I was supposed to beg and plead for your forgiveness, right? Even though I had done nothing wrong. Then things would go back to what they'd been."

Blaine said nothing.

"Well," Kurt continued, "things haven't been good for a long time now, Blaine, and I'm done. I'm done with it and with you. I don't need a boyfriend to make me feel complete, and I certainly don't need one who lies and projects his own guilt on to me." He scoffed. "If you even feel guilty for what you've been doing with Sebastian, which I doubt."

Blaine paled.

"Who the fuck is Sebastian?" Santana demanded, leaping to her feet. "Wait, that Dead Poets Society reject who threw rock salt?" She whirled on Blaine. "You've taken up with that weasel? Then tried to shift the blame onto Tink?"

Blaine began backing up, only to run into Mercedes.

"No, no," she said, "I don't think so. Kurt had to sit through your bullshit, so you're going to plop that flat Hobbit ass in the nearest chair and take your lumps like a man." She started pushing him.

"I didn't do anything!" he protested. "I never cheated on Kurt!"

"Right," Kurt drawled. "It was all so very _family-friendly_ , yes?"

Blaine glared and nodded.

Again Kurt pulled out his cellphone and sent another mass text.

"How family-friendly does this look to all of you? There was a video, but I deleted as soon as I realized what it was. It definitely wasn't safe for school and, since Sebastian is still seventeen, it's pretty much child pornography. It was rather sad he hadn't realized that until I told him."

"Oh, god," Blaine whispered. "How did you get that?"

"How do you think?"

"You went through my phone?!"

Kurt blinked. "No," he said slowly, "that's what you do. Again, I don't operate that way. Sebastian forwarded me every text, Blaine." He startled and then laughed. "You didn't think he wouldn't? Your naïveté is terminal."

The others looked between the two boys before slowly reaching for their phones.

"Oh, gross," Quinn sniffed, glaring down at the screen.

"There are _pictures_ ," Finn complained. "Nice abs, though," he said reluctantly.

"Mike and Sam's are so much better," Kurt and Brittany said.

The two aforementioned beamed shyly at them.

"Family-friendly?" Rachel said before snorting. "Maybe the Manson family."

Kurt honked out a laugh.

"Not impressed," Santana said flatly.

Puck agreed. "He needs lessons."

"He needs a lot of things," Tina remarked, "including a life. And he's not the only one."

Artie and Mike glared at Blaine, who said nothing and took his seat.

Kurt gave him a menacing look. "You should be very glad I don't lay bare some of the truly reprehensible things you've done to me."

"Nothing happened," Blaine growled, blushing and staring at the floor.

"Do you really want to open that door?" Kurt demanded. "Because I'll be the one to close it."

"I was drunk!"

"Yes, you were drunk. Just like you were drunk when you kissed Rachel and decided you might be bisexual. Then you came to me in the cold light of day and didn't understand why I wasn't turning cartwheels for you. When I had the audacity to question it, you compared with to _Karofksy_. You _know_ what he did to me, Blaine."

"I apologized," Blaine whispered.

"You told me I should be more understanding, that I should feel sorry for him and make excuses for his pain and suffering. I didn't put him in the closet nor did I keep him there, but somehow he decided it was my fault. Just like every time you screw up, it's somehow my fault. I didn't do the right thing or say the right thing or feel what you told me I should feel."

His eyes darkened. "If anyone is like Karofsky, it's you."

Blaine stared up at him with wounded eyes. "How can you say that?"

"Because I lied, you idiot. I lied because I was embarrassed and humiliated and _ashamed_. He tried to force more than just that kiss."

"What," whispered a pale and shaky Finn. "He did what?"

Blaine shook his head in horror. "I … I didn't know."

"You didn't want to know! I _tried_ to tell you, but you didn't want to hear it! All you did was spout useless platitudes and stupid buzzwords. Our whole relationship has been nothing but you trying to change me into the person you think I should be. You lie; you manipulate; you try to make me feel guilt for things that aren't my fault.

"When I work up the _courage_ to call you on your nonsense, you fall back on your excuses. You were drunk. You didn't mean it. I didn't understand what you did or said. Can't I just forgive you? Not that you're ever truly repentant, because you never believe you do anything wrong.

"And I forgave you for a lot, Blaine. The Gap Attack, the mess at Rachel's party, blaming me for that bird dying, telling me I needed to fit in better at Dalton. And don't even get me started on what you tried to do to me in your car outside Scandals. You act like you saved me from Karofsky. I saved _myself_ , you asshole, just like I've always done, and when he came for you, I saved you too!"

The others looked fearfully at each other, wondering what on earth Kurt was talking about, terrified to know the answers.

Kurt scoffed. "You're not strong, Blaine. You're only strong when it doesn't matter. You're only strong when someone else is doing all the work. You act like I should feel privileged to be with you. The privilege is yours and I'm taking it back. You don't deserve it."

"Kurt," Will softly interjected, "I think you and I are long overdue for a discussion."

Kurt considered his teacher for what seemed like minutes. "Perhaps, but not today."

Will nodded, not wanting to push his luck. "The floor is yours."

"Thank you, Mr. Schuester, but it's unnecessary. I refuse to waste further words, time, or voice on something that no longer matters; that never truly did."

Blaine winced that Kurt couldn't even be bothered to substitute a personal pronoun for his name. Instead he had been reduced to an object, a _thing_ , which, he was beginning to realize, was what he had done to Kurt from the beginning.

Kurt looked back at Blaine. "We're over. And as angry as am, as angry as I always _will be_ , I still wish you a better partner than you were to me."

He gathered up his things and left the room, escorted by Sam, who gave him a hug at the door and sadly watched him leave.

He then closed the door and turned around.

Santana, Quinn, and Mercedes stood.

"What happened outside of Scandals, you teacup poodle?" Puck growled.


	9. In the Bleak Hour

**Prompt #18 :** Unforeseen

 **Crossover :** _Glee/Revenge_

* * *

"You look entirely too pleased with yourself," said a suspicious Aiden.

"I always am," Nolan replied. "What's your point?"

Aiden leaned in toward the other man's ear, repressing a smile when Nolan involuntarily shivered. "I know you and I know there is no one to whom you are more loyal than Emily. Given her precarious state, for you to look so smug means something."

Nolan shrugged him off. "There's no one I love more than Emily," he murmured.

Aiden pulled back and frowned, wondering again about the incredibly complex and nuanced relationship between his girlfriend and her best friend. Nolan Ross was often dismissed as merely Emily Thorne's lapdog, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

Nolan was perhaps the only with the audacity to challenge Emily when it was warranted. Even Aiden himself sometimes held his tongue to keep the peace, but Nolan was completely unafraid of her. That either made him very stupid or very secure in the knowledge Emily would never hurt him.

Of course, she often hurt him. It was never intentional and usually the result of one of her schemes backfiring. There were moments Emily was deliberately cruel with Nolan because she didn't want to hear what he had to say, even when – _especially_ when – he was right. She didn't always listen; in fact, she usually didn't. But she heard him. He was often the only one she could hear.

Aiden also knew that if anyone ever hurt Nolan, all of Emily's machinations would pale in comparison to the unholy apocalypse she would unleash to avenge him. He often wasn't sure what she truly felt for him, he hoped it was love, but her feelings for Nolan? They were perhaps the truest, if not the only, emotions she was capable of possessing.

"What have you done?" he repeated.

"What I had to."

Aiden paused. "Would Emily approve?" he finally asked.

"I don't care."

Aiden nodded. Whatever Nolan had done had been in Emily's best interest and whether she would like or appreciate his efforts was irrelevant. That meant he had done the right thing.

* * *

The Graysons were in the waiting room, most pretending to care that Emily would live.

The only one who appeared to be actually concerned was Conrad. This was both surprising and not. He was the one most directly responsible for the travesties committed against David Clarke, and therefore Emily by extension, but he had always admired Emily for her cunning and intelligence. He enjoyed seeing his wife bested, and no one had delivered Victoria more comeuppances than Emily Thorne.

Victoria was posed grandly in an uncomfortable chair, smirk ever-present, as she wished over and over again that Emily Thorne would soon die, preferably in the most painful and bloody way possible. That her son was responsible for his new wife's condition wasn't her concern; protecting him was. She had already sown the seeds that her husband's mistress was the assailant, so all she had to do was wait for said seeds to bear fruit.

Daniel looked sullen and morose, as he always did, and his glassy eyes suggested he was still drunk.

Charlotte wasn't sure what to feel or how to behave. Part of her liked Emily, but she had heard so many horrible things about the woman she considered an honorary sister, she decided to take her cue from her parents and wait and see.

A slight man dressed in pale blue scrubs and a face mask exited the double doors to the surgical wing and wandered into the waiting room proper.

Aiden narrowed his eyes as he caught the quick glance of recognition between this man and Nolan. The man just as soon blanked his eyes and quickly strode in Nolan's direction.

"Mr. Ross, if you'll come with me, I'll brief you on Ms. Thorne's status."

Nolan offered a brisk nod and stood, unsurprised when Victoria immediately followed.

"Excuse me," she said sharply, "but Emily is now a _Grayson_ and a member of my family. I insist you tell us how she's faring."

The man raised an eyebrow before removing his mask, coolly staring at her before again regarding Nolan. "We can speak over here," he said, gesturing toward the corridor.

Victoria couldn't believe the gall of this nonentity's dismissal and said as much.

"Mrs. Grayson," he calmly began, "who you are and what you want is of no interest to me. Your son may be married to Ms. Thorne, but that paperwork has yet to be ratified by the County Clerk's office. Nolan Ross is still listed as her emergency medical contact and holds her power of attorney; thus he and only he is entitled to be informed of Ms. Thorne's condition. If you wish to dispute this, I suggest you consult hospital counsel and wish you good luck."

Conrad leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and smirking as he savored this moment.

"And who are you?" she seethed. "Emily was given into the care of Dr. Rogers."

"I am Ms. Thorne's personal physician. I was already en route from Zurich to Southampton to attend the reception, so when I received word Ms. Thorne was rushed to the hospital, I made an immediate detour and assumed control of the situation." He paused in consternation. "Do you have any further questions?"

"I was unaware Emily had a private physician."

"I was unaware it was any of your business."

Victoria faltered only momentarily. "If you're based in Zurich, it stands to reason you have no privileges at this facility," she said triumphantly.

"I was vacationing in Zurich; I am based in Paris. Emergency privileges were rushed through and approved."

"By whom?" she demanded.

"The Surgeon General, who is a personal friend."

Victoria blinked.

"Who _are_ you?" Daniel demanded. "Emily never said anything to me about having her own doctor."

"My name is Kurt Hummel."

Everyone other than Aiden and Nolan stared. Aiden kept his face a mask, but Nolan was barely fighting his snickers. If asked, he would dismiss them as stress.

"How do you know Emily?" Victoria said softly.

"How is that relevant?" Kurt volleyed. "I am her physician of record. If you wish to challenge it, again I refer you to the hospital's counsel."

"Who would undoubtedly reiterate Lord Hummel's claim," Conrad said blandly.

This was a man in whom he had no interest in engaging, far too aware of his reputation. Kurt Hummel was born in Ohio, but held dual citizenship with France thanks to his late mother, a French aristocrat descended directly from Charlemagne with the title and money to prove it.

He had breezed through undergraduate and graduate studies with apparent ease, becoming a physician when he was only twenty-two. He was also a well-known and regarded philanthropist who had continued his grandmother's legacy of raising hundreds of millions of dollars for notable and worthwhile charities, specifically those concerning the health of women and children.

He sat on numerous boards and was friends with the world's most influential people, though he was notoriously wary of the press and drove the paparazzi to distraction with his avoidance of them. He was the godfather to numerous children of celebrities. He often accompanied Angelina Jolie on her UNHCR missions as her director of medical personnel.

His charitable trusts geared toward this country were overseen by Alicia Florrick, a partner at a highly successful Chicago law firm and wife of the governor of Illinois. His personal attorney here in the States was Olivia Pope, who had the ear of the President.

There were even unsubstantiated rumors he had ties to organized crime, specifically to Santana Lopez, an Argentinian oil and gas mogul. There were other rumors, ones which strongly suggested Kurt Hummel was not a man to be crossed if you valued your own secrets.

Kurt Hummel would not be impressed or intimidated by Conrad Grayson, with his paltry tens of billions, nor by his wife, the allegedly infamous Queen of the Hamptons. It was apparent to all he was merely humoring them and appeared to be enjoying the experience.

"Thank you for protecting Emily, Kurt," Nolan said, making sure to stress they had a personal connection. "I know she's receiving the best possible care now that you're here. How is she?"

Kurt gave a brief nod. "Do I have your permission to discuss this freely?"

"You do."

"Ms. Thorne is currently in stable but serious condition. Her prognosis is good. She was shot twice in the abdomen; the bullets have been removed, but her wounds are serious. Thankfully the bullets didn't fragment, although one clipped an artery that was subsequently repaired. A blood transfusion was required and performed with no complications.

"She sustained a serious skull fracture to the back of her head from her impact upon the water, but I don't suspect it will cause permanent damage. She may experience headaches or migraines until she has healed from post-concussive syndrome. As a precaution, you should be aware she might also suffer mild to severe memory loss due to the extent of the injury."

"Memory loss?" repeated a helpless Nolan. "How severe?"

"It's difficult to say until she regains consciousness," Kurt patiently explained. "It's entirely possible her mental acuity will be perfectly fine, but in cases of such trauma, retrograde amnesia is not out of the realm of possibility. This means she might have no memory of the traumatic event or those events directly preceding it."

Victoria and Daniel exchanged a look.

Nolan sighed. "Worst case scenario?"

"If she has retrograde amnesia, it's possible, though not probable, that it won't be temporary. In effect, she would lose all her past memories but still be able to create and retain new ones. Given Ms. Thorne's young age and otherwise overall excellent physical health, I doubt this will be an issue, but head trauma can be tricky and I want you prepared."

Nolan swallowed heavily and gave a weak nod. "Anything else?"

"Various strains, sprains, and contusions which will heal with time. Thankfully there were no spinal injuries." He paused. "Sadly, because of where the bullets struck, I had to perform a unilateral laparoscopic salpingo-oophorectomy.

"This means I had to remove one of her ovaries and fallopian tubes. It's a fairly straightforward procedure, but due to the damage caused by the bullets, it was necessary. The other ovary and fallopian tube are perfectly intact, as is the uterus. There should be little scarring and Ms. Thorne should experience no significant difficulty in conceiving."

Nolan slowly exhaled.

"Well, I'm sure Emily will be so relieved," Victoria said snidely.

Daniel snorted. "Maybe next time she'll actually be pregnant."

Kurt turned toward him. "The next time she gets shot, Mr. Grayson, or the next time she conceives?"

Daniel blinked owlishly, his muddled mind sensing a trap but not quite sure how to escape it.

"You'll have to forgive my son, Dr. Hummel," Victoria said. "The truth of the matter is that Emily created a fictitious pregnancy to force a marriage between herself and my son."

"I wasn't aware this was the nineteen-fifties," Kurt said blandly. "Your family is not without resources, Mrs. Grayson, and an accidental or unwelcome pregnancy no longer requires a legal ceremony to placate the masses."

"My son is a gentleman," she said stiffly.

"Despite all evidence to the contrary. Regardless, it appears you are misinformed. Ms. Thorne was indeed pregnant. Sadly the fetus did not survive."

Aiden and Nolan said nothing, doing their best to ensure their faces never betrayed even a modicum of surprise or laughter. They easily inferred that Kurt had falsified medical records which would undoubtedly stand up to relentless scrutiny. Victoria wouldn't care about this phantom child, but Daniel and Conrad certainly would, thus widening the wedge between them.

"W-What?" Daniel whispered, collapsing into his chair. "There really was a baby?"

Kurt nodded. "There was. Ms. Thorne was in the very early stages and the impact of both the gunshots and her fall caused her to miscarry."

"I don't believe you," Victoria said baldly.

"I couldn't care less," Kurt easily replied. "Emily contacted me when she suspected she was pregnant to request recommendations for an obstetrician. There was no confirmation other than a home pregnancy test, but I know she had made an appointment for an examination and ultrasound."

He arched a brow. "It was widely reported she and your son were ambushed by the press and the appointment never rescheduled due to the wedding preparations. Her bloodwork shows elevated levels of HCG, estrogen, and progesterone. Her uterus presented with recent trauma which will heal. A dilation and curettage was necessary. She was pregnant."

"I demand a second opinion!" Victoria huffed.

"You are not in a position to demand anything. I have catalogued my findings and if any of her records or specimens go mysteriously missing, or if the hospital's mainframe is attacked, I will file the appropriate charges."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I don't make threats. I make promises."

He turned back to Nolan. "Would you like to see her? She's still unconscious, but I'm sure your presence would be welcome."

Nolan nodded and followed Kurt, dragging Aiden with him.

Charlotte stood and took off toward the cafeteria. She desperately needed caffeine and time to herself to think.

"You couldn't have been more obvious," Conrad said.

Victoria rolled her eyes. "He knows nothing."

"Not yet," her husband warned, "but he is not unintelligent and your idiocy has planted suspicions. It's best if you and Daniel leave. Perhaps you should stop by the closest church and pray that Emily does indeed wake up without her memory intact. That is, if God listens to you anymore, if he ever did."

She scoffed. "If he did, we wouldn't be married."

He looked at her and their son with disgust. "Then pray for that as well."

* * *

Nolan and Aiden flanked Kurt as he stalked down the hallway.

"That was quite a performance," Nolan said casually.

Kurt nodded. "Thank you. You may bow." He chuckled when Nolan actually did.

"Was she pregnant?" Aiden whispered.

"No, but no one will be able to prove differently."

"How do you know her?"

"I've known Emily for years," was all Kurt would say.

Aiden looked past him to Nolan, who nodded once. "Dr. Hummel is Inner Circle."

Kurt sniffed. "I wouldn't liken Emily Thorne to Voldemort. She actually knows how to plan an attack, and she would never be so overt or crass."

Nolan grinned. "How long are you staying? At least until Emily is released, I hope."

"Any commitments I have can easily be rescheduled," Kurt said, smirking, "and the Hamptons are lovely this time of year."

Aiden thought Kurt's presence would either be the most wonderful or terrible thing since Emily had begun all of this.


	10. Coming Around Again

**Prompt #6 :** _Home_

 **Author's Note :** Though part of my prompt series, this particular story was inspired by my dearest, Ashes. Hevans because of course. It is unabashedly romantic and schmoopy, because Kurt and Sam are my OTP. No apologies.

* * *

Cold regret washed over him like dishwater the moment he closed the car door.

Why was he here? He honestly couldn't remember what the hell he'd been thinking when he'd agreed to attend. Granted, his time at McKinley hadn't been utterly miserable, but it had been close. Mostly he looked back on those years surprised he had emerged with his sanity intact.

It had been a surreal experience in some darkly magical land where stereotypes roared to life and sang and danced until they could escape. The moment he had graduated, he left, ignoring the parties and last-minute reminisces with people who finally understood they had just completed their peak years. He hung in there longer than most of his friends.

The Unholy Trinity, all of whom he had dated briefly throughout his tenure, had left prior to the ceremony. Quinn had departed for a small women's liberal arts college somewhere in New England, he couldn't remember the name, but they had given her a large scholarship that covered everything but room and board. They'd fallen out of touch before that first Christmas, but he'd heard she graduated with a degree in women's studies, with honors. She headed a non-profit agency which focused on training impoverished women for entry-level white-collar positions.

Brittany and Santana had headed south, which had worried him at the time. That was at the height of state anti-LGBT laws, but the girls hadn't cared. Santana had gotten into Emory and majored in political science with a pre-law concentration before moving on to Vanderbilt for law school. She was now a lobbyist in DC.

Brittany had gone to William and Mary and earned a degree, surprisingly, in English Literature. Halfway through her track, she'd decided she was more interested in science than in being an elementary school teacher and began a pre-medicine program. She went to UVA for medical school and graduated with decent grades, specializing in pediatrics. She and Santana were still together, now legally married, and Brittany's practice was literally turning away patients. They were arguing now more than ever about having children.

Mercedes, with whom he had also dallied, had left for Los Angeles the day after graduation. It had taken her six years, but her debut album was a critical and commercial success, earning her three Grammys. Her second followed three years later and was so acclaimed it had launched a two-year world tour. She'd made one movie, her part small yet pivotal, which resulted in a several awards, including an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress. More acting work hadn't followed, but apparently she hadn't cared. She served as a judge and mentor on _The Voice_ for six seasons and was now in the middle of a Las Vegas residency. She married and divorced twice and had one son.

Rachel had graduated from NYADA and done a few minor Broadway roles, but hadn't set the world on fire like she had so desperately wanted. After five years, she decided she could do more good, and make more money, behind the scenes. She applied to and graduated from NYU with a Master's in Business, becoming a talent agent and manager. She had several high-profile clients to her name and lived in a co-op on Seventh Avenue. Her husband was almost twenty years older than her, but they were apparently very happy and had three children, all boys.

It was hard to believe Finn had been gone for almost twenty-five years now. His heart hurt at the thought of it. He and Finn hadn't always gotten along, but they'd been friends, good ones. Sam looked back on those times and wondered as to the man Finn would have become. He rather thought Finn would have come into his own and been the leader he so desperately wanted to be.

Mike and Tina had gone to UCLA together and graduated together, before breaking up not long after. Tina had relinquished the show business bug after leaving Lima and focused on a career that was portable and lucrative, eventually becoming a pharmacist and then a bureau director for the FDA. She now lived in Maryland and, in addition to her government position, taught part-time at the Baltimore campus. She had met up with Artie at a pharmaceutical convention and their romance reignited.

Artie had graduated from MIT with dual degrees in Computer Science and Health Informatics before developing several software programs designed to facilitate the delivery of outpatient healthcare. He worked in the private sector for several years before earning a government contract which had brought him to the convention. Thanks to his connection to Tina, one of his programs was now the primary interface by which the FDA and DEA monitored narcotics. They had one daughter who was breezing through a high school curriculum despite being only nine.

Mike went for a Masters in Drama at Carnegie Mellon after undergrad, continuing to train his voice, which had developed into a warm tenor. Regarded as a true triple threat in the entertainment business, he was perhaps the most successful Asian American actor working. His parts had started out small and stereotypical, his big break coming in the form of playing a teenager in a basic cable show when he was twenty-five. It had lasted for seven seasons and made him a teen idol, an image that was hard to shake.

He finally did with a gritty turn as a concentration camp survivor in a World War II movie. He was still struggling to be seen as a romantic leading man, but he was releasing about three movies a year, all solid parts, and enjoyed a vocal fan community with whom he interacted on Twitter and Facebook.

Puck had foregone college altogether, preferring instead to work as a roadie for Aerosmith during their final world tour. He parlayed that experience into forming his own band, a relatively successful country-rock group popular on college campuses and throughout the South. They didn't enjoy mainstream success but had nevertheless carved out a successful niche for themselves. He had never married and expressed no desire to do so. Beth had gone to live with him when she was a teenager and, from all accounts, Puck was a great dad. Beth was due to graduate from Stanford next year.

Blaine had become a star through sheer determination. He was talented, absolutely, but his only success had been in musicals on Broadway. He had tried to segue into an acting career, but his small parts in films had gone nowhere, so he returned to New York and reveled in the success he had originally found. He had won three Tonys and was still in high demand, despite being a frequent feature in the trade gossip magazines. He had eventually married Sebastian Smythe, but they divorced after less than three years due to multiple infidelities on both their parts. Now Blaine was often seen squiring around young hopefuls barely out of high school who saw him as a mentor and sugar daddy. He wasn't in attendance tonight, for which Sam was grateful.

As for Sam himself, he had gone back to Tennessee and worked for a few years before he had saved up enough for college. It had taken him another six years before graduating with degrees in Music and English, with a specialization in Creative Writing. He wrote songs for a few years, several of which became modest hits for various country-pop divas, before switching focus to fantasy fiction, penning a bestselling series of children's books featuring two boys, the closest of friends, who had to save the world regularly from a host of supernatural threats.

It wasn't until he had the sold his first manuscript that he realized his characters were based on himself and Kurt. He hadn't realized so much about Kurt until it was far too late.

Last year, his first book was optioned by DreamWorks and was currently in production. He had written the adaptation and had a hand in the casting. The moment a small young boy named Owen Winters had entered the room, Sam knew he had found his star. Shiny chestnut hair, enormous blue eyes, and skin that had never seen the sun, Owen looked like all those pictures Sam had seen of Kurt when he was a child.

He'd thought of nothing but Kurt for months afterward. In truth, he'd thought of little other than Kurt for years, starting that first day in the choir room. Sam had always thought he was a little dumb, but never had he believed he was outright stupid. Now he thought of little else.

He had fallen in love with Kurt at first sight. He didn't know why he hadn't declared it then and there. He'd always known he was bisexual and had never cared whether he ended up with a man or woman. He hadn't really cared what anyone thought of him until starting McKinley, wanting a popularity makeover to go with his new hair color. Outside of his family, the only person whose opinion mattered to him was the one person to whom he had never been able to express himself.

He was stupid. He was stupid for coming here tonight, for coming back to this small, insignificant and close-minded town which filled him with nothing but regret. He wondered if the only reason he had shown up was because he knew Kurt wouldn't. He did, however, feel not a small smugness that the most successful people of his class were all former members of New Directions.

He had only really stayed in contact with Brittany, primarily because she was the only one who had contact with Kurt. After Finn's death, Kurt had left Lima before graduation, jetting off to Europe and shutting out everyone but Brittany. Of course, what belonged to Brittany also belonged to Santana, who took every opportunity to lord over Mercedes and Rachel that she had access to Kurt when they did not.

Frankly, Sam was jealous too. He knew he could've picked up the phone and called Kurt anytime – he'd had the number for years – and Kurt would have happily answered, but he had been too embarrassed and too ashamed. And too heartsick.

As for Kurt, his life had become nothing less than a fairytale, a true Cinderfella story.

Kurt, while sitting his third year in Biochemistry at Oxford, had gone to an audition in the West End on a lark, walking away with the role of Puck in a revival of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. He had earned rave reviews and an Olivier Award. He had then returned to Oxford to complete his degree.

Two years later, he was on the stage again in a re-imagining of _My Fair Lady,_ playing a gender-swapped Eliza Doolittle named Elliot, which set Rachel seething with envy. His acting was once again celebrated, but his voice was worshiped. He won another Olivier and then crossed the Pond when the show moved to Broadway, where he earned a Tony and then a Grammy for the cast recording.

He delivered various versions of the same acceptance speech at each ceremony, thanking his parents and his stepmother Carole, dedicating each trophy to his late brother, Finn. It caused many hurt feelings in their small circle, particularly from Rachel, Mercedes, and Mister Schuester, all of whom felt they had contributed to the performer Kurt had become.

Brittany had told Kurt of this and, according to her, he hadn't stopped laughing for fifteen minutes.

Blaine had then given an interview to a magazine, naming himself as Kurt's inspiration and first love, expounding on their former plans to set New York on fire before Kurt decided he couldn't handle the spotlight. It was nothing but self-serving drivel and even the magazine itself seemed wary of publishing it, though it did.

Kurt was ambushed by paparazzi outside of Heathrow and asked for a comment on Blaine Anderson's interview. He responded with a classic, " _Who?_ "

This enraged Blaine, who responded with a second blistering interview which tried to excoriate Kurt but instead made Blaine himself look like a scorned and bitter rival.

Kurt then pulled a Mariah Carey, with an elegant shrug and an " _I don't know him._ "

Blaine never brought up Kurt's name again.

Hollywood came knocking hard on Kurt's door, but most of the roles he was offered were the stereotypical gay best friend fare, in which he had no interest. After his success on Broadway, he returned to Europe, this time settling in Paris after inheriting his grandmother's title, and enrolled in medical school. The European gossip rags had tried to turn him into a celebutante, but since Kurt was never seen anywhere outside of classes, they quickly lost interest.

All was quiet for the next few years. Kurt graduated medical school with honors and was debating his specialization. Deciding to delay the decision, he returned to England and encountered Mike, who was on the West End starring in a production of _The Joy Luck Club_.

The rags went crazy and followed them everywhere, manufacturing a romance between the two. A few particularly diligent reporters dug up a video of the old commercial New Directions had done for a mattress company. Pictures of Kurt and Mike bouncing around in pajamas on the same bed flooded the internet, but both men refused to comment, sending the speculation into overdrive.

Finally, Mike had given an interview and stated that he and Kurt had never been lovers and were nothing more than good friends. Of course, Sam later learned that, after the interview, Kurt and Mike began quietly seeing each other for several months, their differing schedules eventually driving them apart.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but he wanted Kurt to be happy and Mike was a genuinely nice guy. The only other ones who knew the truth were Brittany and Santana, as well as Tina and Artie, all of whom had been supportive and sad when it didn't work out. Sam had only felt bad that he didn't feel worse.

The alleged romance was forgotten in the wake of Kurt's next role. He appeared in another gender-swap, this time as Lady Macbeth in a small, independent French production opposite Eva Green as Macbeth. It was an art film and not expected to do much, if anything, outside of France. It debuted at Cannes, where Kurt and Green swept the acting categories and the film itself won the coveted _Palme d'Or_.

It was then picked up by an international distributor and marketed globally, becoming the critical darling of the season, though it didn't fare well commercially. Regardless, Kurt and Eva Green each won a César, a Golden Globe, a BAFTA, an Actor and, finally, an Oscar for Best Actor and Actress, respectively.

Kurt then walked away from it all, conducted postgraduate work in immunology and public health, and gone to Africa to work for Médecins Sans Frontières, or Doctors Without Borders. He was often seen in the company of philanthropic celebrities, but never gave interviews and refused to comment on his previous life as an actor. He also refused to discuss public policy in the war-torn nations he served, claiming he wasn't a politician and lacked the education and expertise required to offer a competent opinion.

He just went quietly about his day, saving as many lives as he was able.

This wasn't a surprise to those who truly knew him; granted, that list was extremely short and Kurt had never really spoken of his dream to become a doctor back in high school. The only one with whom he had shared it was Brittany, most likely because she wouldn't have questioned, only encouraged.

Kurt had arguably been very close to Mercedes and Rachel at different periods back then, but they hadn't done much to look past the surface of who Kurt was, perhaps because the surface reflected themselves, which interested them more. Mercedes had wanted a partner in performance and Rachel thought of Kurt as the male version of herself. They had been content to see little more than what was presented.

Sam supposed that was part of what made Kurt such a good actor: he gave people what they wanted. He had also been close to Kurt at different times, but each of them had always kept parts of themselves removed. He wondered now if that was because they were both afraid of being seen, truly seen, by each other.

He had paid very close attention to Kurt during every performance and what he saw was a boy far more interested in the process than the result, even if said result was always flawless. Kurt was an explorer, and his missions involved searching for himself and new worlds through different media, be it a song or a book or a role.

So many wondered why Kurt had only ever made one film when he had been so lauded, deeming him a one-hit wonder or an insecure narcissist, but Sam believed Kurt had abandoned the spotlight because he wasn't interested in repeating himself. Any subsequent work would have been judged, fairly or not, by that performance and there was nowhere left to go but down. Kurt had walked away on top and, in an industry where everyone loved a good crash and burn story, he had no desire to fulfil the prurient fantasies of a sinister appetite.

Instead Kurt had cast himself in a new role, that of healer, and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. And he was playing the hell out of it.

Sam was so proud of him. He probably should have told Kurt that.

He should have told Kurt … so many things.

"Hey, Hot Lips."

Sam turned and quirked a brow, saluting her with his glass. "Hi, San."

She smiled and patted his cheek. "It's good to see you, Evans. I'm just surprised to see you here."

"Not as much as I am. I've been avoiding this place like the plague ever since I left." He shrugged. "Maybe it's time to lay some ghosts to rest."

She gave him a slight nod and an understanding smile.

"Where's your better half?"

Her smile grew. "Catching up with Artie." She chuckled and shook her head. "Brit's a brilliant doctor, but she doesn't understand why Wheels doesn't yet have bionic legs."

Sam sniggered. "You two doing okay?"

Santana was silent for a long moment. "We're pregnant."

His eyes widened. "Are congratulations in order?" he asked gently.

"I don't know," she confessed. "I wasn't really consulted. Brittany decided she was going to have a baby before she no longer could and my permission wasn't necessary."

"She went behind your back?" asked a shocked Sam.

"She gave me an ultimatum and I took too long to answer, so she took the decision out of my hands." She sighed. "I guess I can't blame her. I'd been putting her off for over twenty years, Evans."

"Do you want the baby?" he pressed.

She stared down at the floor. "More than anything I've ever wanted in my life." She gave a sardonic chuckle. "Why is it I'm always surprised Brittany knows me better than I do myself?"

"Then why do you seem so ambivalent?"

She gave him a wry grin. "We're not spring chickens anymore, Sam. Hell, ten years ago both of us were considered to be of _advanced maternal age_. There are lots of things that could go wrong."

"How is everything now?"

"All signs point to this being an unremarkable pregnancy," she said with relief, "but that doesn't stop me from being scared out of my fucking mind. What if something happened to Brittany? I can't be a mother by myself! I'd probably end up leaving the kid in its car seat on the roof of my truck!"

He rolled his eyes. "Santana, may I be blunt?"

"I'd prefer it."

"No, you're not what many would consider maternal, but you know why that's wrong? Because I know that you would die for your child. You would kill for your child. The rest you'll learn as you go."

He was surprised by the tears that appeared in her eyes.

"Thanks, Sam," she said quietly. "I really needed to hear that."

He gave her a slight smile and a nod. "Not to be indelicate, but who's the father?"

She rolled her eyes. "Who do you think? Who's the only man Brittany would let knock her up?"

His eyes widened in disbelief.

"Tink, of course. Granted, he agreed fifteen years ago, so the two of them put it … on ice, so to speak."

"Does Kurt know she's pregnant?"

"Sure. They talk every day. Hell, Kurt talks to my wife more often than I do."

"You're not jealous?"

"Of them? No. Kurt's the only one other than me who ever really looked at Brittany and saw her as something more than a generic bimbo from a horror movie."

He gave an absent nod. "I think he saw all of us."

"Probably." She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if he was upset that most of us couldn't be bothered to do the same, but then I think he probably just told us to fuck off in his head."

Sam smiled. "You always saw him."

"Yeah," she said, exhaling, "which is probably why we weren't friends from the beginning. I wasn't ready to be as brave as he was every single fucking day."

"Yeah," he whispered, dropping his head.

She gently reached up and swept his bangs back from his head. "I'm glad you brought the Bieber back. It always looked good on you." She sighed. "You should have told him, Sam."

"Told who what?" he mumbled.

She scoffed. "Yeah, right. Seriously, Trouty Mouth, you think you were the only one? We were all in love with him."

He swiftly brought up his head and stared at her.

She quirked a brow in response. "Really? Okay, let's go through the list. First you have Tina and Artie, his oldest friends in the world. They only ever got together because they knew they couldn't have him. Not romantically, they were too young for that, but I remember what they were like in elementary school. They were a perfectly functioning triad. They did everything together, including finishing each other's sentences. Everyone hated it because they didn't have it themselves. It was totally some _Stand By Me_ shit.

"Next you have Hudson … Finn. Now, I wasn't the idiot's biggest fan, but I knew him in ways no one else did, and you better believe he had mad love for Tink. He didn't have the foggiest fuck what to do with it, so he turned it into gay panic, but when their parents got married? You couldn't have separated them with a crowbar. Being Kurt's brother was the only safe way Finn could express how much he loved him, and he did it often and didn't give a shit what anyone thought of it. I know, I've _seen_ , how badly Kurt has mourned him. For _twenty-five years_ , Sam." She shook her head. "Only Kurt's mom beats that record.

"As for Berry and Jones, you know the stories there. Each of them thought that if Kurt had even one kernel of heterosexuality, they'd ride off with him into the sunset. Even though they knew he was gay, they nursed that hope and punished him when he couldn't deliver it."

He grimaced and nodded, knowing it was true.

"Then you have the so-called Unholy Trinity. Yeah, Quinn was in love with him. He hit all the right buttons for her. He was beautiful, smart, kind, and completely incapable of betrayal. He gave her hope, too, that there were still good guys in the world and that, maybe, one day, one of them would find her and give her the things he couldn't.

"As for me and Brit, well, _duh_. I looked into Tink's eyes forty years ago in fucking kindergarten and it was like looking into a mirror, only it was a funhouse mirror because everything got distorted. He remained true to himself and got hell for it, but he never backpedaled, never apologized. People feared me, Sam, but even the people who tormented Kurt still respected him.

"And we both know that if that kernel of hetero was real? He'd have married Brittany when they were twelve in some square state that allowed it. You hear about opposite-sex life partners all the time, but that term was invented for them. If Kurt believed in souls, you'd better believe Brittany would be his soulmate."

He smiled and gave a respectful nod.

"You know about Mike. You think that just started in England? Hell no. You never met Matt Rutherford, he left the term before you got here, but he had an enormous crush on Kurt – just not the backbone to do anything about it. Matt and Mike shared everything. _Everything_. Brittany's still in touch with Matt, because she's in touch with everyone she's ever met, and when Matt found out Mike and Kurt had hooked up all those years ago, he was angry. And hurt. And bitter. Still is. He didn't let it come between him and Mike, nothing could do that, but it ripped his heart out."

"Are you going to tell me Puck was in love with Kurt, too?" he scoffed.

"Ask yourself that question, Evans," she snapped back. "Who's the only person the Puckhole has ever allowed to call him by his given name?"

"Rachel called him Noah."

"Did he ask her to? Did he ever encourage it? Did he even fucking respond when she did? No." She huffed. "When he assumed custody of Beth, he had me draw up a will to make sure she'd be taken care of if anything happened to him. Guess who he named her guardian?"

Sam offered an exaggerated blink in reply.

"Not his sister. Not the half-brother. Not even Quinn. He chose Kurt. A portion of his share of his band's record sales goes to Doctors Without Borders. He fundraises for them at every concert. He has an honorary seat on the Board of Directors for the U.S. division." She paused. "And how do you think he was able to afford to send Beth to Stanford?"

"Huh?"

"You're a writer now. Be more eloquent."

"Is he still in love with Kurt?"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to Puck in probably ten years. You weren't here for most of the drama that went down between them, Sam. Their history is convoluted, bordering on obscene. The things Puck did …" she trailed off, shaking her head in anger, "… and Kurt forgave him. Do you really believe Kurt would forgive someone who wasn't truly sorry? Once Puck figured himself out and realized why he had acted that way, he was terrified and terribly ashamed. He went on hands and knees to beg forgiveness. And that's not a euphemism."

"I can't believe I didn't realize this sooner," he said quietly.

"It's pretty fantastic." She laughed. "I mean, think about it: the boy who was so used and abused by everyone in this room turned out to be, in the end, the one who held us all together. He left the country so he could be free to be himself, and we all fell apart."

She waved a hand. "Yeah, we've done well for ourselves, but don't you ever wonder how different things would be, how different _we_ would be, if he had stayed?"

"All the time."

She sighed and put down her wineglass. "It's almost time." She growled. "I can't believe I agreed to this."

He gave her a half-smile. "Do you still remember your part?"

She rolled her eyes and looped her arm through his. "Let's go and find out if Berry still tries to autofellate herself when handed a microphone."

"That was an image I didn't need."

"Why should I be the only one in pain?"

Right before they reached the door to the backstage, he stopped. "I missed you, Santana."

"Yeah, well … ditto."

* * *

Sam couldn't believe how easily they fell back into their old roles, though the passage of time was marked by stiffer hips and some vocal diminishment. Still, they sounded terrific and the nostalgia of both their performance and _Don't Stop Believing_ had the entire audience dancing and cheering. It was fairly ironic, considering how badly New Directions had been derided by the school, even when they won. Especially when they won.

Mercedes sounded better than ever, being firmly entrenched in her vocal prime, and, to her astonishment, had to take over for Rachel during some of the high notes. Rachel was still ridiculously talented, but she hadn't sung professionally in years. Apparently this hadn't occurred to her because she didn't bother to rehearse, probably because it had never before been necessary. The most shocking part was how effusively she thanked Mercedes for coming to her rescue. Time and children had managed to make Rachel Berry gracious.

Puck, Mike, and Sam had taken on additional parts, as well. Puck and Mike still sang for their supper, Puck more so than Mike, and Artie, like Tina and Quinn, didn't. Artie, Tina, and Quinn still sounded lovely, but their ranges weren't quite what they had once been thanks to disuse and age. Santana was still a powerhouse but no longer hidden in the shadows, meeting Mercedes note for note. Mercedes had even asked Santana to duet on her next album, thinking the time was right to bring back _The Boy is Mine_.

Sam had continued training on his own and was rather proud his tone was richer and his vibrato tighter than what they had once been. He only sang now for his own pleasure and was thus surprised when the other guys, even Puck, had backed off in some measures to let him shine.

Brittany had also improved, thanks to her own training, which Sam suspected had been inspired by Kurt. It had always bothered her she had never gotten to sing with him back in high school.

Still, there were notes missing, there was _feeling_ missing, and Sam wasn't the only one to notice they left a space open for Kurt. He even caught Mr. Schuester's forlorn eyes resting more than once on that empty space.

Oh, and Schue's hair was still ridiculous.

* * *

Sam circulated around the room, exchanging banal pleasantries with those he knew from the football team and Cheerios. Most of them had never gotten out of Lima but, on the surface at least, they were kinder people. Middle age tended to yield toward mellowness.

Most were surprised he was now a writer and then stunned when he mentioned the series he had written. Their excitement was tangible and perplexing. Almost all of them were familiar with his books, having read them to their kids and even reading them themselves. He wondered how they felt about the last book, in which it was implied, but never outright stated, that the two boys ended up together.

Maybe their views had changed. Maybe having children had brought about that change. Whatever the impetus, he was happy for the acceptance and accolades, even signing a few autographs.

After an hour, he was ready to leave. Truthfully, despite the success of the evening, he had been ready to leave before he got there. It was already going on eleven and he had an early flight. His body was no longer capable of being pushed the way he once had. Still, he wasn't that anxious to return to his generic and empty hotel room.

Seeing the others had been nice, but all it did was drive home just how alone he truly was. He was happy for Santana and Brittany, and Artie and Tina. The others were either married or in relationships, but he was alone. He suspected now he always would be. Unconsciously or not, he had carved out a space next to him twenty-five years ago and reserved it for one person. It was still reserved.

He supposed he should feel pathetic or just plain stupid but, for whatever reason, he didn't. He loved Kurt, always had and always would, and even if they would never be together, he could never regret loving that boy. His Angel.

He had slipped up once and called Kurt that out loud. He had never been so embarrassed in his life, despite the fact Kurt had always had numerous nicknames for him. But _Angel_ had been so personal, so private, and so reflective of an absolute truth he had needed to share, even unwittingly.

And Kurt had halted in his tracks and looked into Sam's eyes, a look so filled with love and contentment, such utter tenderness, that, even now, Sam had to remember to breathe.

 _I love you too, Sam_.

Kurt had loved him, just not the way he wanted. And that was okay. It had been then and it was now. He'd rather love Kurt and suffer for it than never love him it all.

But now …

Had he been right, back then? Had Kurt only loved him as just a friend, or something more? He remembered there being a pause. He remembered Kurt seeming to wait for Sam to fill it, but he never had.

Oh, god.

Had he been so taken aback, so overjoyed by that declaration, the he had missed his chance?

Tears sprung in his eyes and he hurriedly spun around to fiddle with the centerpiece on the banquet table, but not so quickly that he didn't see Santana and Brittany notice and make a beeline toward him. Damn.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Brittany whispered, laying her head on his shoulder.

He took in a shaky, ragged breath. It felt like he was breathing through a wet cotton rag on a humid summer day. The edges of his vision were graying and everything turned the color of burned-out lightbulbs.

"Did he love me too?" he whispered plaintively. "Did I just not see it?"

Santana closed her eyes.

"Oh, Sammy," Brittany murmured, her own eyes wet, "you really didn't know?"

He choked on a sob, flinching when Santana's tiny hands came to rest on his shaking shoulders.

All these years, all that time. _Wasted_. He wanted it back!

He felt the others surround him then, time once more slipping away, and it was like they were back in the choir room. He heard Mercedes' concerned coos and Rachel's strident demands to know what was wrong so she could fix it. He felt Tina and Artie waiting for him to make the first move so he didn't feel crowded. He felt Quinn sending him silent strength. He felt unwelcome commiseration from Puck and Mike.

"I've missed you all so much," he said.

And then he was tackled and felt a dam in his chest breaking open.

How had he survived this long without them? Why had they only depended on Kurt to keep them together? Was it really so hard to pick up a phone or send a text? Even at their worst moments, they had always been a team. God, how he'd missed that. He only realized now how badly he'd been mourning it.

It was so strange that those bonds, which had once felt so immortal, had been rendered merely ephemeral thanks to their own inaction.

He heard an opening swell of music.

And then he heard the singing of angels.

Of _his_ Angel.

" _Someday, somewhere, we'll find a new way of living_ …"

That voice. _The_ voice. The one that had haunted his dreams from the first moment he'd heard it.

It was still beautiful. It was still the purest sound he had ever heard. But it was richer, slightly deeper, even more controlled, now titanium gloved in velvet. It was more assured, more confident, and he desperately hoped it was for him.

He quickly scrubbed his face with a hand and turned around to see Kurt standing not ten feet from him, a spotlight trained above him and shining off his hair, giving him a burnished halo.

Sam inhaled sharply. Kurt had changed, but he hadn't. He had always hated being called pretty; now he was stunning. Sam had to force his ankles to lock so he wouldn't swoon like some Disney princess.

The hair was longer and with a slight wave, wispy curls swaying in a breeze that simply wasn't there. It was streaked with blonde from the African sun and with white from age and wisdom. Sam wanted to run his fingers through it, just to know if it was still as soft as it had been that night all those years ago when he caressed it as Kurt slept.

 _Gossamer_. It had been like gossamer, silky stands which had fallen through his fingers like a gentle rain.

He was taller, broader in the shoulders, waist still trim and legs ridiculously long. He wore white tie and was the most overdressed and magnificent person in the room. He looked like some leading man out of an old forties movie.

He was tan, no longer porcelain, and glowed with health and vigor. Fine lines were etched around those remarkable eyes, which now gleamed with something Sam had always feared he'd never find there: peace.

Sam wanted to laugh: Kurt was singing Streisand right under Rachel's nose.

He ignored the startled gasps and furious whisperings, blocking it out as he should have done all those years ago. He had eyes only for Kurt, who was staring back at him as if Sam Evans were something precious, a key to a lock Kurt had closed when they were young and unknown to each other.

"… _we'll find a way of forgiving. Somewhere_."

And all was forgiven. Was there even anything to forgive? Perhaps himself. Perhaps he could finally forgive himself for not saying what he'd been waiting to say for over twenty years.

" _There's a place for us_ ," his Angel sang, soothing him and causing his heart to thump loudly in his chest. " _Somewhere, a place for us. Peace and quiet and open air wait for us, somewhere_."

The notes were gentle, almost sighs, a longing so ardent, Sam felt it pass over him in wave after wave of desire. Once Kurt would have sung those words to himself in a bid of assurance and placating, but now he was singing a quiet and sincere declaration. His pacing, while always exquisite, had impossibly improved, lending no doubt that it was Kurt who controlled the song, not the song him.

And that's when Sam truly understood.

Kurt was here for _him_.

Kurt wanted _him_.

 _Kurt Hummel had crossed an ocean. For him_.

Sam ran scenarios through his mind. He needed to call his attorneys. He needed to call his housekeeper and ask her to become his caretaker, because, while he couldn't bear to sell the ranch, he was leaving tonight. He didn't need anything but the clothes on his back. He had his wallet and passport. He had his phone and laptop. He could have anything else he needed shipped to wherever he went, be it Africa or the North Pole or some South Pacific island where he'd get Kurt naked faster than physics would understand.

He would call his parents and Stacy and Stevie tomorrow, or the next week, or the next year. Whenever he and Kurt could be bothered to pause their lovemaking. Second chances like this didn't come around very often, if ever, and Sam Evans was determined this would be the one night in his life in which he wasn't stupid.

" _There's a time for us_ ," the Angel promised, tone steady and unyielding, " _someday there'll be a time for us. Time together with time to spare, time to learn, time to care_."

These weren't just words, Sam knew, these weren't just verses. These were oaths.

These were _vows_.

" _Someday, somewhere!_ "

Today. Anywhere. Absolutely anywhere.

" _We'll find a new way of living_."

Together, as they were always meant to be.

" _We'll find there's a way of forgiving. Somewhere. Somewhere, somewhere_."

Africa. Tennessee. The moon. Sam didn't care where, as long as it was with him.

And his breath caught in his throat the moment he saw Kurt take in a deep breath of his own.

" _There's a place for us_ ," the Angel swore, his voice slipping seamlessly into his lower register, that sensual tone Kurt had used far too little in high school, before an enormous vocal sweep which could have touched heaven itself, " _a time and a place for us_."

It was so gorgeous, so achingly gorgeous. His voice thrummed with strength and power and a vibrato that almost sounded like machine gunfire, it was so confident.

"What the hell are you waiting for, boy?" Mercedes demanded. Loudly.

" _I've_ been waiting for this for a lot of fucking years!" Rachel hissed.

"Go, you idiot!" Santana encouraged.

"It's time to get your happy ending, Sam," Quinn murmured in his ear.

Brittany literally pushed him out onto the floor.

Right! He was supposed to move now. He was supposed to be in Kurt's arms.

" _Hold my hand and we're halfway there_ ," the Angel sang, his smile so blinding Sam almost had to turn away, he was so overcome.

A dumbfounded Sam stopped and stared as Kurt flung out his arm in welcome, his hand cupped toward him, beckoning him forward. His fingers, so long and elegant, which had once awed Sam as he watched Kurt play the piano, now awed him for an altogether different reason. It was a surgeon's hand, a healer's hand, and it was a lifeline.

His entire life had been building toward this moment and he had no regrets. He didn't have time for them anymore. Whatever happened, whatever he and Kurt had to go through to get to this moment made everything else worth it, because this was everything.

This was the beginning of his life, of _their_ life.

" _Just hold my hand and I'll take you there!_ "

Perfect glissando. Masterful ascension in keys with no loss of pitch.

Sam reached out and grasped Kurt's hand desperately, every cell in his body awakening and rejoicing when contact was made. First contact, because this was the first time they had ever held hands where both of them understood what it meant. And, yes, he still made _Star Trek_ references.

Kurt turned their touching palms toward the sky and interlocked their fingers, joining them, tears streaming down his face. Sam would never let him go again, not tonight and not for the rest of their lives.

" _Somehow!_ "

Sam gave an owlish blink. Kurt was belting. Loud and proud and his voice soared. Sam would swear he could see the notes pouring forth from Kurt's mouth. They were golden. This was exaltation.

There was a crash of drums that echoed like thunder and Sam felt as though it was Finn's blessing.

" _Someday!_ "

Another crash of drums. _I trust you with my brother, Sam_ , Finn had once said and was seemingly reiterating. _You're the only one I trust that much._

Had Finn known then?

" _Somewhere!_ "

As Sam marveled at Kurt's fermata, delivered free of vibrato and trailing off until his voice became indistinguishable from the instrumental, he became aware of a band now sitting on his ring finger, claiming him in front of God and His entire Kingdom.

Then the performance was over and silence reigned. Sam felt as though the whole of time and space had paused to grant him this one perfect moment.

"Marry me."

Later, Sam wouldn't remember crying. He wouldn't remember saying yes. He wouldn't even remember if he had said anything at all. This time, words weren't necessary.

His lips found Kurt's own and it was as though the final missing piece was laid in place. And, as it was, they became gods in a new world which had just opened only to them.

Then there were cheers and applause and screams of joy. There was New Directions surrounding them like a pride of lions, keeping them safe and secure. There were balloons falling from the ceiling and the whispered death threats of Sue Sylvester hissed in his ear.

None of it mattered. He had come home and found his home, and there was no place like home.

Thanks, Glinda.


End file.
